


Shadow Riders: Riders of the Storm

by Maygra



Series: Magnificent 7: Shadow Riders AU [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-15
Updated: 2003-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maygra/pseuds/Maygra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Fair Warning: This particular story was begun in 2003 and never completed. Other shorter stories in the series fill in much of the background but it is unlikely this one will ever be completed.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Shadow Riders: Riders of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Fair Warning: This particular story was begun in 2003 and never completed. Other shorter stories in the series fill in much of the background but it is unlikely this one will ever be completed.

**Shadow Riders: Riders of the Storm** **by Maygra (with mayhem assistance from Megan)  
 **Universe:** Shadow Riders (open)  
 **Pairings:** all pairings open.  
 **Rating: Mature** for violence, sexual situations, violence  & gore  
** Feedback of any sort is encouraged and welcomed at [maygra@bellsouth.net.](mailto:maygra@bellsouth.net)

[Prologue] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7]  
[Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] 

  
**Prologue:**

Music drifted across the night air, playing a game with the clouds that skittered then crawled across the face of the new moon, commanding the clouds dance, drawing the moon down in bright wisps of silver. The ring around the pale face looked silver and huge, a ring to wed night sky to the earth below. 

The tune was bright and quick-beated, tambourines echoing and accompanying the lively singing of violins, chased by laughter and the clapping of hands, as the dancers moved ever faster with light steps and nimble feet. A little dust kicked up to mingle with the smoke of the fire, shimmering with bits of mica and fools gold, pale compared to the moon's ring but magical nonetheless. 

Magic wasn't something Duff McAllister gave much thought to. The music had drawn him and his men along this side trail, as the sun set lower and gave way to the rising moon. Off the main road leading from Eagle Bend, but he and his men had been avoiding the main passes for weeks now, bypassing the big towns and even some of the smaller ones unless they needed supplies, or the boys started fighting with each other. 

They'd lost a couple of men on the way; boys too stupid to know when a fight turned ugly enough to draw the law, and Duff wasn't wasting time on idiots with no better sense than that. Wasn't going to leave them behind to talk either, and the bodies they'd left behind in River Springs had no doubt ended up in potter's field. 

That had brought his gang down to fifteen, but it was more than enough to fulfill the job waiting for them in Texas. A few more days riding, only. Maybe a week, cutting south to skirt the border of Mexico, or into it if need be. The little border town of Purgatorio was maybe a day ahead of them. They could re-supply there, keep out of the way of the shootists that were said to be guarding over the dirt farmers in Four Corners. 

Not that Duff was afraid of the seven regulators, but he was down men already and wouldn't lose any more if he could help it. 

But now this little windfall they'd tripped over half way between Eagle Bend and Four Corners, this was something else entirely. Even from the bluff Duff could smell food cooking, hear voices and laughter and the music. Tinkers, Alverson had said when he and Nattering had moved in to take a closer look. Gypsies with their bright-colored wagons, their food and their music -- and their women.  A half dozen or more, maybe as many able bodied men, a few old folks and a handful of kids. They had a few milk cows, goats and draft horses, maybe two or three mounts that might make suitable swaps for a couple of the boys whose nags were starting to show the strain of the long haul from Wyoming. 

Duff didn't give much credence to rumors of gypsy gold, either, though he'd heard the tales, how the damn tinkers all carried some chest or box of silver and gold, hidden away in their wagons. Stolen, most likely, if any of it were true. 

But even without the lure of treasure, the tinkers had what he and his men needed most: food, horses, and maybe a little fun. And nobody would miss a bunch of gypsies anyway. Towns didn't want 'em and farmers and cattleman would run 'em off for being thieves and pickpockets, just like they would Indians. 

"Any of 'em armed?" he asked Nattering. 

"Saw a couple of rifles, men wear knives. Gals too. But ain't nobody keeping watch that we saw. Don't sound like they know they's about to have company," Nattering said, an evil grin splitting his pockmarked face. "Some of them gals is right fine looking." 

"Ain't worried about what they _look_ like," Ralph Haines said, nudging his horse up next to Alverson. 

Duff nodded, but studied the camp again for a long moment, smiling to himself when none of his men moved, even though they were restless and the promise of fresh food and women had them all but salivating. "Al, you take Ralph, Biggs, Kettering and Louis round the far side. We'll give you about thirty minutes. Nat, you Billy and Saul and  Dunkirk onto the east. Gibbons, Masters, Pete, and Lawson, come in from the west. Me and Vern'll ride in easy, looking for a fireRide in easy. Don't want to spook 'em. I'll take my hat offor call you in. You fellas try not to git yourselves killed. And" he took the time to survey every face. "When we're done, you don't leave nobody left who seen us, you got me? Way out here, ain't nobody gonna miss a bunch of damn tinkers." 

"Even the kids, Duff?" Masters asked, not looking unwilling, but even among these men there was a glitch of conscience -- maybe. 

Duff sat up a little straighter and glared at Masters. "Which part of 'nobody' you got a problem with, Ben?" he asked. 

"No problem" Masters said, bridling a little. 

He got nods and agreement, the men wheeling their mounts off, looking to go wide and surround the small camp. Left alone with Vern, Duff leaned over his saddle horn, watching the group. 

"Shoulda' just ridden on in," his cousin said with a snort, hooking his leg over the saddle. "Not enough of them to worry about" 

Duff ignored the tone. Vern was a mean son of a bitch, with no patience, but he was blood and Duff had long since learned to ignore his bitching. "I promised Clay Allison a dozen menthis goes off with no problems, and he'll get more'n that, but you boys is just stupid enough to get shot over nothing. This ain't no more than a stopover, Vern. Now shut up and watch, make sure nobody jumps the gun," he said and Vern swore softly but did as he was told. 

Duff ignored him, watching for any sign that the tinkers knew they were being watched. 

The music continued even though the dancing stopped and food was passed around. Duff glanced up at the stars then nudged his horse forward and down the bluff. "Time to pay a social call," he murmured to Vern, who followed. 

Duff grinned, keeping his animal walking. The food did smell goodand almost better than that, he had his eye on the dark haired girl that had been dancing just at the last, all long hair and bright skirts. 

Yeahjust a stopover. No more than passing the time. 

**Chapter One:**

The pounding on his door pulled Chris Larabee from the deepest end of sleep with just enough wits to first reach for the gun slung on the end of the bedpost and to recognize that the room was all but black still, with no hint of light skimming along the top of the building next to the hotel. 

"All right, all right" he grumbled, throwing back the lightweight blanket and putting his bare feet to the still cool floorboards. "Who is it?" 

"It's Vin, Chriswe maybe got some trouble." 

It was said with no urgency, but Chris was suddenly far more awake than he had been, unlatching the door and pulling it open. The hallway was dark too, only a single guttering lamp on the wall casting any light at all. 

Vin was full dressed, loaded up with his mare's leg and Colt, hat in his hands. "Sorry to wake you...got smoke north of town. Ain't no one living up theremight be wildfire," Vin said, voice low so as not to wake -- or panic -- any of the hotel's other inhabitants. "Already got Nathan up and we're heading out to see to it" 

Chris nodded, rubbing a hand through his hair and over his face. "All right. I'll get dressed, get the boys up. How far?" 

"Half-hour or so, maybe moremoon's still up, sun's breaking. Can't tell fer sure but it's heavy and grey." 

Which meant wood burning or grasses. It wouldn't take long for a wildfire to spread toward town. He nodded. "Go on then. We'll catch up. Ride back to meet us if you find it" 

"Willsee you in a bit. Nathan's got coffee made up in his place." 

"Smart man," Chris said and there was just enough light for him to see Vin grin. 

"Ain't had none, yet, cowboy. Tastes like his tonics." The last was tossed over his shoulder as Vin headed back down the hall. 

It would. Chris sighed, feeling sleep tug at him again, but he fumbled for matches and his own lamp, filling the small room with light while he hunted up clothes.  Minutes later he was dressed, and tapping on Buck's door, then pushing it open, not surprised to find the big man's bed empty. He rubbed at his eyes again, glancing around, trying to figure out which woman on Buck's list of willing partners he might have spent the night with. He couldn't remember seeing Buck with anyone special the night before and shook his head, turning to the room across the hall. 

JD was still sprawled on his bed, spread out like the bed was too small for him, slack jawed and snoring. 

Chris set the lamp down and silently pulled JD's guns out of reach before giving him a shake. He came awake a lot faster than Chris had, but his fumbling for his guns was far less targeted and he almost fell out of bed. 

"Wha--? Chris?" Dark eyes blinked up at him and Chris handed him his guns. 

"Get dressed. Got smoke on the horizonVin and Nathan have gone to check it out. Where's Buck?" 

"Buck? Uh" To his credit, JD was pulling the information together to make sense of both Chris' short comments and his questions. "With Sally, I thinksmoke? We got fire?" The dark eyes were suddenly wide. 

"Don't know...need to be ready though," Chris said, lighting JD's lamp from his own. "Wake Ezra if you can. Find Buck. I'm headed to the church. Meet us at the livery." 

JD had more questions but Chris didn't have answers as he strode away. 

The street was silent and dark, only moonlight reflected back from the plate glass of Potter's store. The night fires had burned down to coals and embers, leaving the smell of ash lingering  in the air. The hotel, boarding house and Potter's store were all still dark. Stepping onto the street Chris sent his gaze north, seeing nothing at first. Eyes narrowed against the gloom, a silver cast to the clouds from the lowering moon, and he saw it then; the low wisps of shadow playing across those silver linings. Smoke 

Vin would have gone high to check it first, and Chris thought about following, glancing up at the rooftops. He could only wonder at what had alerted the tracker in the first place. The man had to sleep sometime. He'd have to ask him. 

The church door was unlatched and Chris pressed in, surprised to see a lamp burning and Josiah moving in the shadows, pulling his suspenders up.  Josiah checked his gun before grabbing up his coat. "Saw Nathan and Vin ride out. Trouble?" 

"Could be. Vin saw smoke north of here. Not sure what it was...maybe a brush fire. No settlers that way." For which Chris was thankful, though he didn't say it. He wasn't sure he was up to facing a burned out homestead. But there wasn't much directly north of town but brush and sparse forest, not even reliable water for a good sixty miles or so; the  couple of springs up that way were most likely dry from the long, hot summer. 

Josiah cocked his head. "No storms. No lightningwonder what could have started it." 

"Vin said wood smoke." Chris shook his head. They knew nothing and speculating wasn't getting them anywhere. 

"Waiting for the others?" 

"JD's getting them," Chris said, watching while Josiah brought the fire in the potbelly back up and picked up his coffeepot. Liquid sloshed. 

"Last night's, but it'll get us started." 

Chris grinned at him. It would taste like tar but it would do the trick better than Nathan's brew. "I'll get our horses saddled, meet you back here if you have that coffee waiting." 

Josiah gave him a toothy grin. "Deal." 

It took him only about ten minutes to saddle both Pony and Josiah's big bay, leading them both out to see Buck hurrying toward him. "Wait for JD and Ezra," he said. Buck looked both concerned and confused. 

"JD said wildfire. Shouldn't we be waking the town?." 

"Damn kidwe don't know  anything yet," Chris said. "Rather not get the town in a froth if it's not something serious. He wake anybody but you and Ezra?" 

"Not sure he's got Ezra awake yet." 

"Josiah's got coffee for me." 

"He got enough to share?" 

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Chris said on a chuckle and kept moving. 

The coffee was bitter and only barely hot, but Chris didn't complain. Didn't need to -- Ezra was doing enough for all of them, but he was up and Chris left Josiah to bank the stove fire. 

Ezra hardly looked like himself, which indicated that he'd put some "hurry" into his early wake up. "I see no reason why all of us have to go," he said, but his horse was tacked, and he himself looked more awake than he usually did. 

"Maybe no reason," Chris said, mounting up. "But if it is, we're gonna need to ride out and warn folks and not just here." He wheeled Pony around, not waiting to see who'd follow. They all would. 

The moon was just bright enough to make the ride in the darkness something less than foolish, but Chris kept checking the sky and the horizon, glad to see a glimmer of light there. Ahead of them the smoke seemed less noticeable which boded well since there was only a light breeze to carry it up and toward town, but there was a line of it to follow still, a dark trailing shadow that rose up against the lightening sky. Close to it and he could see the low glow \-- not sunlight, but fire, only it seemed too high. Chris tracked the lay of the land and the bluff that rose behind the glow they could all see. 

Closer and even without much movement in the air, they could smell it, and Chris' mouth tasted sour. Not at the smell of wood smoke, but something both sharper, and underneath it a sickly-sweet odor: burning flesh. 

Not brush fire though, although there was that too, smoldering at the edges of darkened center of what looked to be an encampment of some sort. Or what was left of one. 

He could see Nathan moving, white shirt against a fire that was still burning -- but it looked like he and Vin had built it to give themselves light to see by. A smaller shadow moved around the edges, dumping and kicking dirt over the still smoldering edges of the blackened circle. 

Chris paused, blinking at what he saw, which he was having a hard time categorizing. There were wagons burning, or smoldering, although they didn't look like the burned out wreckage of conestogas he'd seen. These were more like boxes on wheels, where they weren't canted over or crumbling from the fire -- burned and blackened husks of carts that reminded him of something he'd seen but couldn't immediately place. 

Buck reined in beside him, and all of them slowed, seeing no immediate threat but still feeling the overwhelming sense of wrongness to what lay before them. 

"Looks like a mortar blast," Buck said. "But never seen one take so large an area." 

It did look like that, Chris thought, gaze twitching to where Vin had spotted them.  Nathan had seen them as well, taking a break from where he was moving -- carrying \--  what Chris suddenly realized were bodies. Laying them out in a line. 

The blackened area was several hundred feet across; what was left of the wagons arranged in a circle around what had to have been a central fire pit. But even had the fire gotten out of control, it couldn't have done this. The circle was too damned perfect. 

"Fire from heaven," Josiah murmured, nudging his horse forward, his right hand automatically moving to sign the cross. 

"Lightning strike?" JD said, looking as stunned as the rest. 

"I think not," Ezra said. "The symmetry is all but perfect, even given the edge fires. And unless those wagons were covered in kerosene, I find it difficult to believe they would be so completely engulfed." 

Chris didn't know what to think, but urged his mount forward, dismounting just outside of the burned area when Pony started tossing his head nervously at the too close scent of ash. 

Vin had shed his coat, which was unusual, because the morning, while not cold, was cool, but even as Chris dismounted he could feel the still resident heat rising from the ground, as if the earth itself might erupt into fire once more. 

Vin's face was streaked with soot and sweat, shirt dampened and he pulled the bandana down that had offered some protection to his lungs. Still he coughed and Chris fought the urge to echo him, handing over his canteen instead. "Thanks," Vin said taking a swallow and spitting it out before drinking. The expelled water sizzled for a moment. "Fire's mostly outwe've got maybe two dozen bodies, some more burned than the others, " he warned quietly, eyeing Chris. "Men, womenkids too," he added and shifted his gaze to Buck when he came to stand behind Chris. 

Chris felt his throat tighten and the bitterness rise up. "Any idea what happened? This is" 

Vin shook his head. "Hell if I know.  Weirdest damn thing I've ever seen. I'd say they were tinkers from the style of wagon, but there's somewell, some of the bodies ain't quite as bad -- and they don't look like no gypsies I ever saw. Nathan thinks at least half of 'em might have been dead before this fire hit. I'd say the tinkers were the ones caught worst by the fire but I don't know why -- some of 'em as not burned so bad laying right beside the others." 

They started walking, the blackened husks of grasses and low shrubs crackling under their feet. Chris could feel the heat of the ground through his boots. Josiah had already gone to Nathan to help him, to see that the less charred bodies were the ones being moved. 

They all tried not to look too close, but it was as if the grotesquely twisted and blackened bodies demanded their attention. This close, the smell of charred flesh was even stronger, and Ezra wasn't the only one pulling out a kerchief or bandana to help filter the stench. 

It took Chris a few minutes to fully comprehend what Vin had meant, gaze shifting from the bodies Nathan and Josiah were moving to the other blackened husks scattered across the scorched ground. 

"Can't even touch the others," Nathan said, voice muffled and indistinct under his own bandana. "Triedthey just fall to dustnot even bones left sometimes," he said more quietly, a tinge of both confusion and sadness in his voice. "These onesI'd say them there," he pointed to a group of nine bodies laid out, large and small, "were the folks from the wagon train. Vin said tinkers -- and they look it. Same kind of folk. Clothes, hair, skin. The two men were shot. Dead before they were touched by fire. One of the women too and the kidsthat woman,"  Nathan indicated the dead woman closest to them and his tone of voice grew cold and hard, "pulled this feller off her." He kicked at another body at his feet.  "He was taking herwhen whatever happened, happened." 

Chris stared down at the man, then at the others. The tinkers, the ones that still had features enough to identify, did show some resemblance. Black hair, olive skin, what clothing had survived was stitched with intricate embroidery, the clothes themselves bright and colorful even with the scorching and burned bits. Hair was singed off, sometimes to the scalps, like the fire had run over them and then passed, burning hot enough to scorch and char the edges of clothing, skinbut not engulfing them as others had been.  His gut tightened further at the sight of two children -- one no more than a toddler -- lying still tightly entangled together. 

He could see the bullet holes from here and turned abruptly away, staring out over the flat plains and up along the bluff, blinking the burn of the rising sun out of his eyes. He felt Buck's hand grip his shoulder and took a shallow breath before meeting Vin's eyes, seeing the compassion and worry there. Worried about how he'd react, he knew, and he was both angered that they were worried and grateful that their understanding went so far. "What do you think?" He demanded of Vin. 

Vin dropped his gaze and scuffed at the blackened earth, before taking a breath of his own. "I think the tinkers were camped here and those fellers decided they were easy marks. Some gang. JD, if'n you can stand it, you might want to look at some of the faces of them fellers -- see if any of 'em's wanted. There's thirteen of 'em dead that I think were part of the gang," he said. Nathan had seven of them already laid out. "There're horse tracks leading off there," he tossed his chin toward the west. "And more headed east on foot. Some of the tinkers may have gotten away, headed for the woods. But the firesome of the other stuffI got no idea, Chris." 

"What other stuff?" 

Vin led them, past the fire pit to an area some twenty feet further where a scorched wagon stood. 

It was scorched, but not entirely burned out as the others were. Oh, the struts and steps were gone, but the wagon hull looked solid. The wooden guides for whatever draft animals had been used were no more than barely-holding-together cinders and Chris suddenly looked around. Not an animal to be seen, and none dead and burned either. 

He stepped forward to get a closer look and heard a crunch underfoot. Buck stopped too and Ezra moved to the side, all of them suddenly staring at their feet. 

The ground below was black, but not just charred; it was black as pitch but with a glassy sheen and where their feet had stepped down, small hairline cracks had blossomed, the thin crust fracturing but not giving way. 

"This would appear to be the epicenter of whatever occurred," Ezra said, seeing the glassy ground extending in and around the standing wagon and then spreading out to the more normally burned area. If any of this could be called normal. 

"Maybe there was something in that wagon," Buck said, staring at the ground. "Something like Ether orcoal oil," he said, struggling to find an explanation for what they were seeing. 

"It's possible, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra said, crouching down and using a rock and a gloved hand to smash the glass-like surface until it shattered. He carefully extracted a largish section, examining it. "But  unlikelythe heat it takes to forge dirt and sand to glassno fuel fire that I've ever heard of can burn so hot. It requires a coal fire furnace of some magnitude to do such a thing." 

Buck carefully took the shard, holding it up and twisting to hold the fragment up against the fire. Only a little light got through at all, even though the shard was thin -- like ice on a pond. 

"Vin!" Josiah called out to him, not sounding alarmed, but waving him over to where another group of three bodies lay on the far side of the camp. 

Chris followed Vin, while Buck and Ezra continued to examine the wagon and the ground. JD was there too, crouched down, looking a little pale but serious. "It's wolves, ain't it?" he asked, to where Nathan and Josiah had rolled the bodies over to move them. 

They'd been mauled, sure enough, and even so, Chris found it easier to look at the torn up bodies than the burned ones. They were dressed different from the tinkers -- more of the raiders, and Vin only crouched and looked, barely touching the torn apart bodies at first, but his brow lowered and he rolled one, checking under and over, ignoring the thickened blood streaking his hands. 

"Maybe...but" he wiped his face with his sleeve and rubbed the blood from his hands, before standing up to peer toward the horizon, and the deeply shadowed woods several hundred feet away. "Damnmakes no sense. Looks like wolves but" 

"But what?" Josiah asked sharply. 

"Might 'ave been dogs. Maybe guard dogs the tinkers had. There was still fires burning when Nate and I got here, and these fellers -- whatever tore 'em up, killed 'em. Didn't come after the bodies were dead. Ripped 'em apart but didn't haul off the carcasses or feed on 'em. Have to be  desperate or sick wolf pack to come this close to firebut they weren't scavenging." 

Chris was crouching too, checking guns. "Missing some slugsmight have been shooting at 'em if they were dogs. Tracks?" 

"I'll look," Vin said and headed back to the fire to get a long branch to use as a torch. The sun was coming up but dawn was hazy and indistinct. JD got up to follow him, lagging a step or two behind so as not to obliterate any tracks they might find. 

Chris stood up again, surveying the camp then turning back to Nathan and Josiah. "Only about half of this makes any damn sense. Bunch a tinkers being overrun by a group of maraudersain't that uncommon but the rest of thisNathan, anything else making you nervous?" 

"Aside from all of it?" Nathan asked, not joking. "I seen a lot, Chris. On the plantations, in the war. Saw a bunch of people die in a mill fire when I was kidbut nothing like this. Josiah said hell fire. I'm 'bout ready to believe it. And these folkshard to say when they's burned so bad. Or tore up. I got knife wounds and bullets, scratches and bruises. I'd say there was an ugly fightbut a couple of them tinkersthey's just dead and I can't figure out why just yet. Just dropped. And as to why some's so burned they's dust and others just scorched, it don't make no sense either. If the bad ones had been close to that patch Vin found, it might make sense, but it ain't like that. Pulled one of them raiders off one of the charred bodieslaying on top of him or her. You'd'a thunk if it was a flash fire of some kindit'd be the other way round, top body protecting the bottom one." 

"Mr. Larabee," Ezra called out and Chris twisted, to see Ezra up in the wagon husk and Buck leaning into the opening.  "Get the rest of 'em. Buck'll help. Get a count" Chris said to Nathan. 

Air caught under the edges of Chris' duster, making the ash and dust rise and he had to cover his mouth again, the back of his throat itching with the need to cough. "What'd'ya got, Ezra?" 

"A partial explanation of why this wagon is more or less intact," Ezra said and stomped his foot. The wagon shifted and groaned on its broken wheel struts, but underneath it, Chris heard the dull clang of metal beneath Ezra's hard boot heel. "Metal. Iron I'd thinklead would have melted under the heat but this" he had his knife out scraping at the interior wall near the door until he had a bare handful of what looking like filings. He carefully rubbed at them with his other hand until a glint of something brighter was exposed by the fire behind them. "This might explain why they were attacked in the first place. This my friends, if I'm not mistaken, is silver. A rather ingenious way to hide a treasure." 

"Hide it? Painting the damn wall with silver?" Buck asked, pinching out a few of the filings. "The whole thing? That's a lot of silver." 

"Not so much," Ezra said. "It's a fairly thin coat, probably applied hot against the metal sides. Then painted. But, yesif you needed ready wealth. The inside was quite consumed by whatever heat  or fire took the rest of the camp. It scorched the paint off or I'd have never seen it. A torch, if you would, Mr. Wilmington." 

"What are you looking for, Ezra?" Chris asked while Buck went to get a faggot from the fire to use. Chris gripped the sides of the door and Ezra' offered hand to pull himself up into the wagon as well. 

"I have no idea, Mr. Larabee, but if this was indeed the cause of whatever catastrophe befell this camp, this would seem to be the center of it." 

The torch Buck handed them helped a good deal, and Ezra repeated his scraping on the other wall the floor and ceiling, even the door. He was intent, but his little handful of filings grew into a handsome pile in the middle of his kerchief and Chris could practically see the counting of ounces running through the gambler's mind. 

Chris left Buck holding the torch, examining what was left of the wagon's contents. Not much. There had been shelves and a narrow ledge that could have been a bed. Burned, half-melted tinware had tumbled from the charred shelves and a fine layer of ash covered the floor: cloth and clothing, and who knew what else. Unlike the remains of the other wagons, this one had only the door, no windows or small trap shutters on the back or sides. Not even a roof vent. Maybe it was only meant for cargo or dry goods although even with the amount of ash and burned contents, there didn't seem to have been a great deal inside. 

He kicked at a pile of charred lumber in the corner -- more shelves or cabinets, and they crumpled, broke apart, but his toe hit something solid and he crouched, carefully pulling at the timbers to pull out an odd shaped box, almost like a hatbox but heavier, and twelve sided with a loose cover, the hasp broken. 

His fingers tingled and he realized the box was cold. Not just cooler than the air or the ground outside, but cold. 

It was blackened as well, but a little spit and the edge of his fingernail revealed the dull sheen of silver once more.  "Ez... bring that light over here." 

Chris rubbed a bit more, exposing more of the silver, along with other colors: paint that hadn't been scorched away, intricate designs on the outside that also shone of silver. But it looked like writing even though Chris could make out none of it. 

"That issome amazing craftsmanship," Ezra said softly, examining the hinges that had remained intact. 

"That look like writing to you?" Chris asked, running a thumb over the raised design on the outside. 

"It does, although the precise language escapes me. Josiah might better be able to recognize it than I." 

Chris nodded and carefully closed the lid of the box, heading for the door and calling for Josiah. 

Josiah took it carefully, moving closer to the fire and turning the box, shaking his head. "Some of this looks to beIndiansome Hebrew." 

"I never knew no Indians wrote like that," Nathan said. 

"Nonot the Indian tribes here. India. The Hindu. Maybe Persian. But those are definitely Hebrew," he said examining a single panel and turning it. "And thatis most certainly Latin, of a form," Josiah said, rubbing at another panel with his sleeve to clean it off, eyes narrowed as he tried to make out the script. "'Fiat Justitia, Ruat Caelum -- Let justice be made, though the heavens fall. Hic jacet -- here lies'  I can't make out the name. A phrase here or there. I'd have to clean it better. Been a long time since I did any studying of Latin, but it' graviora manent - greater dangers await'. I'd say it's a warning of some kind." 

"Against what?" Buck asked, looking around. "Maybe somebody ignored it" 

Josiah looked up, his eyes also taking in the devastation. "Maybe. It looks to be some judgment was levied." 

"By God, Mr. Sanchez?" Ezra asked, openly skeptical, but Josiah didn't look away and Nathan gave a couple of little nods of his head. Even Buck looked to be taking some note of Josiah's opinion. 

Chris snorted and kicked at the dirt. "Let's not get too carried away, boys. Something happened, sure enoughbut I can't think of anything happening out in the middle of the God-damned _prairie_ that would suddenly need the attention of the almighty. There's worse than this happening all the time, elsewhere." 

"More things in heaven and earth, Mr. Larabee," Ezra said, looking thoughtful. "We'll need wagons to get these bodies back to town." 

"Folks are gonna ask questions," Nathan said. 

"Let 'em. We ain't got no answers yet," Chris said. "Nathan, you and Josiah go get a wagon." 

"JD and I could go," Buck offered. "When him and Vin get back." 

"Or I," Ezra also offered and Chris stared at both of them confused until he saw the nervous swipe of Buck's hand over his mustache and Ezra looking like butter wouldn't melt. 

They were nervous. Chris couldn't blame them, but he wasn't willing to buy into Josiah's idea of divine retribution. "I don't want nobody talking just yet and that means Josiah and Nathan," he said, ignoring Ezra's look of mock outrage and Buck's scowl. But JD wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut until one of them made sure he understood that they wanted neither panic nor gawkers out here. Even if he could keep his mouth shut, his face would give something away. 

"Should take us about an hour," Nathan said. 

"We ain't going anywhere--" Chris started then all of them twitched and reached for guns as the distinct sound of Vin's mare's leg sounded, twice, followed by JD's colts. 

They moved as a man, Buck and Chris running, Josiah right behind them, weapons drawn, toward the copse of trees Vin and JD had been heading toward. Ezra and Nathan headed for the horses. 

Another shot sounded and then Chris couldn't hear anything beside the rasp of his own breathing, the heavy pounding of his heart. They were interrupted by the pounding of horse hooves, but Chris ignored them, the treeline just ahead. He slowed down, listening. 

One of the horses squealed and snorted, and Ezra's voice calmed him, but Chris caught it and Buck as well, the sound of growling -- more than one. 

Wolves. Wild dogs even -- which would be worse. Wolves at least had some sense, dogs gone wild were just vicious.  It was hard to believe Vin would get caught off guard by either, but the woods were gloomy, the rising sun not high enough to really pierce the canopy. That either Vin or JD could be deadtorn apart the way the men back at the camp had been...didn't bear thinking on. 

"Mr. Larabee," Ezra hissed softly, passing down Chris' rifle, even as he pulled his own and he and Nathan set to ground tying the horses. 

"Damn it," Chris said, pulling back on the lever. "Vin! JD!" he called, pushing through the brush as carefully and as fast as he could. They'd do neither man any good if they made so much noise they couldn't follow the sounds. 

It seemed like forever, the five of them fanning out, but it could be no more than five minutes before the growling became more distinct, the sound of feet on bracken. 

"Come slow, Chris" Vin's voice, low and shaken but firm enough.  "We're all right for now" 

A yip and a yowl, and Chris twisted, hearing something move in the brush to his right, seeing a low grey shape slink past.  He couldn't get a bead on it though, it moved so fast and behind him. Josiah followed it too, his back to Chris' with only a few feet between them. 

"Vin?" 

"I hear yadon't shoot nothing," Vin warned. 

"I'll shoot whatever comes my way," Chris called back, pushing forward, catching a glimpse of movement ahead. Buck saw it too. 

"Might be one of us," Vin said and there was some humor in his voice, but there was strain there too. 

"If you shootthey will kill" All of them stopped. The voice was that of a woman, thin and high, like a girl's. 

The low foliage emptied out and Chris pulled his rifle to his shoulder, hearing the cocking of guns as the others caught up. 

"Chrisdon't!" Vin snapped out, and Chris eased his finger off the trigger but moved forward again. 

Vin was there, JD at his back, the latter's dark eyes widening in his pale face when he saw them, but JD didn't move, even though he had his guns out. 

Strung out around them were six wolves and a girl. The animals all had their hackles up, tails down, crouched low and teeth bared, but in front of them, a foot or so between the animals and Vin, was a girl, no more than thirteen or fourteen. Black hair hung in dirty, greasy strands around her face and shoulders, but that was her only covering. She was stark naked, covered in bruises and scrapes, barely developed breasts showing through the lank hair and not a hint of modesty about her. 

Black eyes raked over Chris with an almost scornful expression before shifting to the other men, and the wolf closest to her tensed further, ready to spring. Lightly, the girl laid a hand along the raised hackles and the beast relaxed fractionally. 

"I'se just trying to tell her, we're here to help," Vin said, voice low and steady. He still had his gun in his hands but pointed to the ground. 

The girl spat out a word Chris didn't recognize, but the tone alone made it an invective. 

"We just come from the camp, little miss," Buck said, voice gentle. "Looks like your folk took on some trouble but we ain't part of that gang." 

One of the wolves growled and snarled and the girl said something more, Josiah cocking his head to hear it, maybe recognize it. It was a big wolf, black and gray coat looking singed, dried blood around its muzzle. 

"You stink the same," she said to them. "Leave us.take your own." 

"We just came to help," Nathan echoed Buck. "Saw the firesthem wolvesyou got a name, miss? I'm Nathanyou the only one to make it out? You hurt?" he took a step forward and the wolves all raised up, ready to protect. 

As did rifles. 

"Might not want to do that, fellas," Vin said, and now Chris could hear a tremor in his voice. "They don't seem much affected by bullets. ' _Tso'ape sadeé_ 'That one there, already took two bullets." 

Anyone but Vin and Chris mightmight have thought they'd missed, but it would have been close. "You sure" he asked anyway 

"I'm sure," Vin said, but there was confusion in his voice and maybe a little fear. Something had happened, sure enough, but Chris was having a hard time believing even a full grown wolf could take two bullets at close range and show no sign of it.  But they were at a stand-off here and while he might think enough lead would put the wolves down, somebody would get hurt -- and probably one of them. The girl seemed to neither want nor need their help although Chris might suspect she was in shock after having seen the murder of her entire familyher whole clan. Maybe even hurt herself, or badly used given her naked state. 

"All right," he said, pulling his rifle back, although it was hard to concede the point. And he wanted to know what had happened.  "We're gonna go back now. We'll need to get wagons to take the bodies away. We'll leave you some foodsome water," he offered. "But looks like some of them men got away before the fire. You sure you want to stay out here all alone?" 

"I will find them," she said, with another low guttural curse. 

"We're the law around herewe could help you," Nathan said, trying once more but the girl only shook her head. 

"All right, boys, the lady doesn't want our help," Chris said, lowering his rifle carefully, waiting while the others did the same. "Vin, JDyou coming with us?" 

"Oh, yeah," JD said and took a cautious step toward Buck. Vin backed up as well. The wolves growled but didn't move. Buck waited until JD was close enough, reaching out to grab the younger man's shoulder and while he didn't pull him behind him, he made sure JD was close before giving him his rifle to hold. Buck stripped off his coat and overshirt, leaving him in his undershirt. He bundled and tossed the red calico toward the now empty ground between them and the girl and her wolves. "We'll bring you back some clothes too? All right?  You need anything elsemedicine? You hurt? Nathan there's a mighty fine healer-man." 

One of the smaller wolves crept forward and all the men tensed, but it only grabbed up the shirt in its jaws and backed toward the girl. She took it, sniffing the fabric, nose wrinkling slightly, but she slipped it on anyway, and it engulfed her, the sleeves covering her hands. 

Taking the acceptance of the gift as a sign, Josiah shouldered his own rifle carefully. "We'll leave a canteen of water at the edge of the woods. Some hardtackfood," he said. The girl said nothing, but two of the wolves sat back on their haunches, looking far less threatening. 

"Let's go, boys," Chris muttered and started backing up, the seven of them moving, Ezra, JD and Nathan taking the lead, to turn forward, the others half-sidling away until the foliage hid the girl and her canine guard once more. They all moved a little quicker then, not liking the shadows or the undergrowth that had so completely hidden the pack. 

"You want to tell me what that was?" Chris growled out as they reached the horses. All of them mounted, even though the distance back to camp was only a few hundred yards. A horse might outrun a wolf -- a man never could. 

Vin mounted with the rest of them, waiting until he was astride before shoving fresh bullets into his gun, his hands shaking badly enough to almost make him drop the shells. Only Josiah lingered on the ground for a few moments, laying out the water and food as he'd promised, as well as a spare blanket. 

"Vin pumped two roundsit was on top of him," JD said, eyes still as big as saucers although he'd gotten some color back. 

"You bit?" Nathan demanded, nudging his horse closer, only then taking in the rents in Vin's shirt. 

Vin shook his head then shoved the sleeve back, exposing a couple of long scratches that had barely bled. "No. Never heard him comingheld us down 'til thatgirlcalled them off." He finished loading the mare's leg and laid it across his lap, taking a deep breath and wiping a hand over his face. Chris nudged Pony up next to him, facing him, waiting because it was obvious Vin was thinking hard on something. 

"Tamed the wolves to protect the camp?" he asked, prompting Vin to order his thoughts. 

Vin shook his head. "I don't know. Them wolvessmart animals but theynever seen wolves behave like that, not even half-tame ones. Never seen wolves as big as that one, either." 

"You called them something, Vin," Josiah said, finally mounting. 

He nodded. "' _Tso'ape sadeé'_. Ghost dogsspirit animals. Some tribes say they are spirits of the dead come back. Never seen anybut the way they acted. Protected that girl" 

"They didn't look like ghosts," JD murmured. "Or feel like 'em." 

"They ain'tI'm not saying those are the _'tso'ape sadeé'_. It just came to me. They come back to protect their descendents. Hunt for 'em. ShitI don't know. Glad you fellas came along though. She looked ready to have 'em kill us." 

Chris didn't know what to think either. None of it made sense, but it all felt wrong, incomprehensible. "Josiah, Nate -- you go get that wagon. Let's get done with this" he said and nudged his horse back toward the camp. "Keep an eye out for those wolves," he muttered. 

Vin wheeled his horse around as well. "I'm thinking I should follow those other tracks." 

Chris didn't like it but Vin looked steadier. "Yeahdon't do anything but get a bead on 'em. Buck, you go with him." 

"Do you think it's wise to split us up like this, Mr. Larabee?" Ezra asked. 

"I think I don't want anybody else out here, and if the ones that headed west are part of this gang, I don't want them heading for town. We'll let JD get a look at the bodies, see if we got posters on them. Wait for Josiah and Nate and then get the hell out of here." 

"We need to bury the tinkers," Josiah said. "A few wordsthat girl -- maybe if she sees us show some respect " 

Chris ground his teeth together and rubbed at his eyes. "You fellas don't get moving we'll be here all day. May be anyway. Buck, Vina couple of hours, no more. You got it?" 

"We'll be back," Vin said and urged his horse forward, stopping in the camp only long enough to pick up his coat. Nate and Josiah left too and Chris stared after him, then at the woods. 

"JD. Go take a lookEzra and I will stand watch." 

They didn't do much more than that. JD thought a face or two looked familiar and Ezra spent more time scraping at the wagon until Chris called him back. "Whatever's left belongs to that girl," he snapped off. Ezra looked affronted but it didn't keep him from pocketing the handkerchief full of filings. Chris let it slide and found a spot away from the burned out area to start a smaller fire to heat up some water in a blackened pot he found along with a handful of coffee grounds. 

The sun was higher and the fire Nathan and Vin had built had burned low by the time they heard the sound of the wagon approaching. Nathan was driving, Josiah riding and leading Nate's horse. They'd had sense enough to bring back some food and ate that before starting on shifting the bodies of the outlaws to the wagons and unloading the shovels Josiah had brought. 

Josiah left a bundle of food and clothing at the edge of the woods, pausing as if listening before calling out to the girl. "There's food enough here for a few days. Clothing too. The townit's not that farif you change your mind" he called out to the woods. 

Chris thought he looked foolish as all hell talking to the trees but he left him to it and started digging the first of many graves. 

**Chapter Two:**

They were some distance from the burned out camp and Vin was doing as much walking as riding, slowing them a bit, even though Buck could see the tracks leading off, clear as day.  He let Vin pick the pace though, not sure what the man was looking for beyond the obvious. 

Buck glanced behind him. The smoke had dissipated, a haze rising up as the sun rose. It would be another hot day and even Vin had left his coat off, the heavy thing strapped across his mount's rump. 

Every time Vin dismounted he took his gun with him and Buck watched him, not sure if he'd ever seen Vin so jumpy. The encounter with the wolves and the girl had left Buck's mouth dry, something unnatural and wrong about it all -- as if that weren't obvious. 

But Buck wasn't Josiah to see portents in the strange things that sometimes cropped up. He wasn't Nathan either to be caught up in legends or superstition. He liked to think of himself as a man of the world. Maybe not in the same way Ezra was, but there was nothing much he'd ever seen that couldnt be met with courage, bravado, a gun, and a sure conviction of what was right and wrong. 

Vin, he knew, gave some credence to the beliefs of the Indian tribes he'd spent time with; he had as much regard and respect for nature and her ways as Josiah had for the faith that he hadn't ever quite abandoned for all that it seemed to be happy to be shut of him. But it was one thing to think such legends and explanations were possible, another to come face to face with them. 

Ghost dogs. Didn't look like any dogs Buck had ever seen or any ghosts he'd ever heard of. They'd been real enough, and he hadn't forgotten the torn up bodies at the edge of camp. 

No. This whole thing was making them all a little nervous and skittish and it seemed only Chris was able to hold onto what had happened without worrying too much about why. Man never had had much of an imagination. 

It was a strange thing, though, no doubt about it. 

They were tracking three horses. They were sticking close together but not in much of a hurry. Heading west where there wasn't much but more of the same: flat plains broken up by some hills and bunches of trees that clung together in just enough numbers to be called a forestveering a little north like they were heading for the distant mountains. But what water there was along this stretch was deep underground, only surfacing when the rains fell heavy and they hadn't had much of that lately. 

Vin reined in, eyes searching up instead of down and Buck followed his gaze to see the slowly circling dark specks up ahead. Buzzards. 

"They're still hours ahead of us," Buck said. 

"Yeah. Maybe they ran into somebody else," Vin said grimly, checking and loading his Winchester as well as rechecking the mare's leg. Buck did the same, glancing behind him. 

A couple of hours was all Chris had given them and Buck had no doubt were they much more than that, Chris would be riding after them. 

It took them nearly thirty minutes to reach the small copse of scrub trees, tangled and twisted by the winds and little rain, and all but falling over a jagged tumble of rocks, as if the earth had gotten ill and vomited up stone. They could hear the buzzards hissing and squawking at each other, hopping about on the ground and now and then fluttering upwards to pick at something pale and indistinct hanging from one of the twisted trees. 

They saw no sign of horses but the tracks lead right to whatever the buzzards were feasting on. 

They both slowed, tension riding their shoulders as the winds shifted and Buck wrinkled his nose at the stench of decay, the sickly-sweet scent of rotting flesh. Whatever it was had been here awhile. 

As they moved closer still, the buzzards began moving away nervously, some taking to the air again. 

"Oh, God," Buck breathed out as they got close enough to see. 

It was a man, or what was left of one, arms stretched wide between two branches of the tree, feet not touching the ground. 

He'd been gutted from throat to navel, innards spilling out in a gory banquet for the scavengers. The edges of skin from the flayed and open chest cavity were darkly curling, like an animal skin set out improperly to dry. 

Even bled out it was easy to tell he'd been white, the shock of blondish-brown hair stirring in what little breeze there was. 

The horses snorted nervously, not liking the stench and Vin dismounted, ground tying his horse and approaching cautiously. Buck kept a watchful eye but nothing much moved or made a sound save the buzzards and the occasional rub of the thin higher branches that caused the body to sway and the too-dry branches to creak. 

The area looked clear and Buck followed Vin, covering his mouth and nose with his handkerchief and keeping tight hold on his rifle. 

Vin had left his Winchester on his horse and his Mare's leg was resecured in its long thigh holster. He shifted up wind of the corpse and Buck nudged his mount around to follow him, knowing he'd have little chance of watching Vin's back if he had to lean over and puke his guts out. 

There was little of the revulsion Buck felt showing in Vin's face, and it wasn't even that Buck had never seen a man with his guts spilling out -- mortar rounds on a battle field tended to leave bodies in bits and pieces when they hit in the middle of a company of soldiers -- but there was something about a man being strung up like this and cut open that was far more horrible and sick-making than the horrors of a battlefield. 

Maybe because it was so obviously personal. 

Vin didn't touch the body at first, only walked around it, looking up at the bound hands, at the trailing organs and viscera, then down again as he ducked and walked behind the corpse. He squatted there, hand hovering over the ground but not quite touching the gore that had flattened the dry grasses. 

Then he rose again, circling once more, stepping carefully to avoid messing what tracks there might be. 

Certain there was no one else around, Buck finally dismounted and approached carefully, doing his best to not look directly at the wide-open chest and staying firmly up wind. Around them, the buzzards hung on the trees and rocks, loudly protesting the interruption of their meal. 

"Indians do that, don't they?" Buck finally hazarded and Vin gave a curt nod. 

"ComancheSioux but it weren't no Indian did this," Vin said and took a step closer, lifting a hand to the curling flesh and pushing it lightly toward the wound. The skin flopped and some piece of something fell to the ground. Buck swallowed his nausea, snatching his eyes away from the exposed bones of the dead man's rib cage. "This wasn't done by a knifeclaws," Vin said and that was startling enough to make Buck look again to see the shallower claw marks Vin had exposed. 

"You think it was one of them wolves?" 

"Maybenever knew a wolf could do this, though. And sure as hell no wolf tied him up like that," Vin said, pushing his hat back. There was sweat already on his face, making his hair stringy and limp. "Might take a chunk out of a man's middle, but thiswhoeverwhatever did this opened his chest on purpose. Heart's gone." 

Buck could only glance at the mix of organs and muscles. "Jeez, Vin. How can you tell? Maybe the buzzards got it." 

"Buzzards don't break a man's chest bone to get to what they want," Vin said, voice tight and Buck had to look again, to verify, to see the shattered bit of bone that connected the ribs one side to the other. "Ain't enough blood eitheron the ground," Vin murmured, glancing around. "Wondering if Nathan should look." 

"Look for what? What are you talking about? " Buck asked, moving in front of Vin to see his face, but mostly so he wouldn't have to look at the corpse. 

Vin's face was tight and pale, Buck realized, short answers masking a deep disquiet that showed in his face. "Ain't enough blood on the ground. You gut a man, the blood goes everywhere. Should be blood on the ground. There ain't. He was dead or near dead before they strung him up. Wasn't fighting. Wrists aren't torn up." 

They hadn't seen anything else on the way out here, no tracks splitting off. 

"Maybe they went on further and killed him, brought him back here to string up." 

"Only one set of tracks leading offthree horses, one without anybody riding. No tracks coming back," Vin said, certain and sure as he'd ever been. 

Buck glanced back at the poor feller hanging from the trees. "This doesnt make any more damn sense than that fire does. We want to take him down, or go back for Nathan?" 

Vin glanced around and pulled his hat back on. "I think we should keep going, for a bit.  Chris and the boys'll be looking for us soon. I'd like to be able to tell them as much as we can. This feller ain't going nowhere." 

No, he wasn't, but that didn't make Buck feel any better as they both backed up and mounted, riding past the corpse and ignoring the triumphant screeches of the buzzards as they returned to their feast. 

Vin pushed a little harder, easing his horse into a canter as the landscape became more broken up. Scraggly trees fought for a foothold in land that seemed to be more rock than grass. There was water underground somewhere, though, because the trees were still mostly green at their tops. 

The earth started dropping and they followed a wash that hadn't seen water in a decade down between pock-marked limestone mounds. A spattering of grass under their feet, spreading out in a patchwork and gave the ground  the look of a badly made quilt but Vin slowed and Buck slowed with him , staring ahead. Another upthrust of rock lay before them, the trees here no longer green but grey and twisted, bereft of leaves.  The wash itself cut back south, leading around, heading back toward town and Buck though he even knew where it played outa couple of miles west of town, along the stagecoach route. 

A single horse was wandering along the edges of the rocks, lipping at grass, its reins trailing as it kept to the slim shadows offered by the rock. 

Both of them pulled their guns, but the horse seemed disinterested even when Buck's mount gave a hesitant neigh in greeting. The other animal flicked its ears and lifted its head but went back looking for grass to nibble on. It was still fully tacked and didn't move away as they approached. 

Vin stayed a-horse this time, while Buck dismounted and approached. The horse pulled away but it was half-hearted and seemed willing enough to be lead when Buck tipped some water into his hand for the animal to drink.  "Seems okay," Buck said, checking the animal's legs, looking for injury or any other reason it might be wandering free. 

Vin was looking around, hand white around the stock and barrel of his gun, wary and alert and then suddenly he was moving, the Winchester up and aimed above Buck's head and Buck saw it with just enough understanding to press himself back into the rocks, pulling his Colt as he did so. 

"Come on down from there!" Vin snapped out, mouth tense but his hand was steady, and Buck took a half step and a turn to look up. 

He looked to be no more than a boy, early twenties maybe, black hair curling to the collar of his black vest. The shirt beneath was black as well but embroidered at the biceps and wrists in rich reds and yellows and blues. His pants were loose and flowing, also brightly colored, like a circus performer. Dark skin and an odd tilt to his eyes gave him an exotic look. 

Obediently, he inched down, arms out and wide and Buck stepped out a little further. He didn't see a gun or even a knife, but Buck didn't drop his own as the youth half crawled, half slid down the rock face to land on light feet.  He rose up, hands still extended. 

"One of the tinkers," Buck said, and Vin nodded. 

"Mikal" the youth said, eyeing them both, but he looked less wary than he should have been. He moved fluidly, reminding Buck of dancers he'd seen, muscles tensing and uncoiling as he got to his feet. His eyes held Buck's and he smiled and Buck found himself unable to stop himself from returning that smile. Light brown, almost amber eyes, regarded Buck with amusement -- like there was a joke here only Mikal and Buck knew and Mikal was only waiting for Buck to get the punchline. 

"You from that camp back there?" Vin asked and Buck was startled out of his regard for the youth. 

He took a moment to get his bearings back, breaking that golden-eyed gaze and shaking his head. Wasn't like him to get so caught up in a feller's looks to jerk his mind off business. His smile slipped as he remembered the camp, and the gutted corpse just a mile or so back along the trail. Vin was right to be wary and Buck needed to be too. 

"Hanashour clan," the boy said, English heavily accented. "You found themthe raiders" 

"We've been tracking themyou," Buck said. "Weren't any left alive," he said, not mentioning the girl or her furry friends. 

"Two escaped. I have been following them." Mikal leaned back against the rocks. "I found one" he said, and a smile appeared, one Buck didn't like looking at. It twisted Mikal's face into something ugly and inhuman. 

"That fella back in the trees? You did that?" Vin demanded, shifting his gun a little higher. 

"Traitors deserve no less, no? My clan is deadhis kind. Your kind," he said and the smile was gone, but what was left wasn't any better to look at. " _Ochi pentru ochi si dinte pentru dinte_.[1]  They deserve no better." 

If Buck had to guess, he'd say seeing his family murdered had sent the boy right over the edge. "So where's the other onethere were three horses." 

"Ilost himHe rode onwhen I took his man." 

"And he just let you?" Vin said. "Kill his friend?" 

"Better his friend than him, eh?" Mikal said with a low laugh. "You follow?" 

"We have been," Buck said and holstered his weapon.  "Found your campsaw what they did. We're the law around here. I think you'd better come back with us, son." 

Mikal only shrugged and Vin relaxed fractionally, letting the man get to his horse, but he didn't look convinced. 

"What're you thinking?" Buck asked. 

"I'm thinking it'd be hard to lose a man with nothing but open country," Vin said. 

"I think he's crazy, a little. Maybe seeing that girlknowing one of them survived. Might help." 

"Maybe" Vin  backed up toward his own horse, keeping his hands firm on the Winchester while Buck mounted. Mikal urged his horse up between them, smiling again. 

Damn charming smile, Buck thought and returned it. "There's a girlone of your family we think. Hiding in the woods." 

"Soniashe ran. With the children." 

"We didn't see any other kids. Justwolves." 

Mikal laughed at that. " _Vircolac_ the protectors. Little good they did." 

"You want to tell us what happened there? The raiders we know about, but there was a fire." Vin sidled up. 

"Ahhh.The _alb raid_  they were fools. Clever men. Women and foodthe men stood by. They did not see him. Did not think he knew what he sought. Did not know what he had found. Akmanna was very happy to see him." 

"Ak - manna. Who the hell is that?" Buck said. 

Mikal grinned at him. "You do not know either. The master, the _daevas_ " 

Buck didn't see it coming, but Vin did, only too late. Mikal twisted and then _changed_. 

The horses squealed and jerked as Mikal's elbow caught Vin across the chest, hands -- no, claws -- reaching for the barrel of the rifle, wrenching it from Vin's hands. Buck cleared his gun form his holster as Mikal swung, the stock of the rifle catching Vin in the face and sending him backward off his horse. 

Buck fired without thinking, too close to miss. Mikal jerked and screeched, but turned anyway, something wet and glistening on his chest that Buck only caught a glimpse of, his attention entirely on the contorted, fanged-jaw-wide creature Mikal had become. 

The creature launched itself at Buck, taking them both to the ground, tumbling in the dirt. Buck managed to hold onto his gun and fired twice more, but Mikal barely noticed it. Clawed hands reached out to swipe at Buck, knocking the gun from his hand and the creature was on him again, claws tearing through cloth, jaws snapping at Buck's throat. 

He got a hand up, pressing the thing's head back, fingers tightening on Mikal's throat, but the jaws were only inches from his face. Unreasonably hot, stinking breath made Buck want to gag, and he might have had he not realized he was fighting for his life. A knee to the creature's midsection distracted it for a moment, and Buck swung, putting as much power as he could into the blow. 

It rocked Mikal's head back but he recovered quickly, digging claws deep into Buck's shoulders and driving him backward. His feet fought for purchase on the dry, rock-strewn ground, Mikal pushing him back by brute force, until they could go no further, almost knocking the breath out of Buck when his back hit one of the grey, dead trees. 

Mikal pinned him there, jaws no longer snapping, and the distorted face smiled at him, eyed him, long tongue caressing the over-large incisors. Buck still fought, holding the thing's head away, which was about all he could manage, strength and adrenaline only taking him so far.  And he was caught by the eyes that observed him, trying to hold Mikal back as the wiry body pressed closer and closer, still smiling in a predatory fashion. 

He was caught once more by that gaze, locking eyes with this thing, this monster with the distended, slavering fangs and the sharp-as-knives claws. He didn't know what it was and he felt his heart beating faster, as one claw extended upward to rake along his jaw. 

Just at the edge of his vision he could see Vin, sprawled face down in the dirt, skin pale under the light lifting of his hair, blood on his face. 

The claw tapped at his face and Buck brought his attention back, unable to look away from that gaze as Mikal leaned in and sniffed at him, mouth closed, but the bulge of those fangs still showed beneath his lips. That long tongue came out, tasting the sweat at Buck's throat, a low chuckling sound erupting from the narrow throat. 

Buck couldn't move. Literally couldn't get his muscles to work, eyes locked with Mikal's, the gold eyes suddenly tinged with red as the man smiled, leaning in. The hand at Buck's throat was no longer strangling him, only holding him there, pinning him to the tree. Mikal's body was hot and hard against his, and sweat tickled Buck's belly and between his shoulders. 

And he needed to breathe but those muscles weren't working either and his sight started to grey out at the edges. Mikal's face took up all of his visual field as the man smiled and pressed his other hand to the center of Buck's chest, where the only muscle that was working was beating so hard and fast and frantically. 

The smile grew wider, Mikal's mouth opening to expose the long canines, sharp as razors. Sharp nails dug into Buck's chest, shredding cloth, scoring his skin then piercing it and Buck screamed silently from both the pain and the fear, knowing his heart was about to be ripped from his chest. 

There was an explosion and wetness splashed over his face along with the ripe, hot scent of blood and gore. The paralysis was gone, and Buck sucked in a huge lungful of air, letting it out on a scream and wrenching away as Mikal's body fell the other way, following the blast that had half taken his head off. 

Buck hit the earth, ending up on his hands and knees, alternately gasping for breath and gagging. A hand gripped his arm and he swung blindly to find it blocked and then released. 

"Easy, Buck! It's me,..it's Vin" 

_Vin_ Buck jerked away, trying for his feet and ended up on his ass while Vin made an aborted attempt to keep him from falling only to end up on his knees as well, hand pressed to the still bleeding gash on his forehead and making all the sounds of a man about to vomit. He still had his hand wrapped around the mare's leg, though, and it took seeing the gun to help settle Buck's brains enough to finally fix in his mind what had happened. 

He wiped at his face, finding it smeared with blood and probably a little bit of brain matter. He looked then drew his gaze back sharply, closing his eyes tightly to block the sight of the corpse sprawled untidily in the dirt beside him with most of its facing missing and the gaping jaws still open although only half as threatening.  "That was close," he said, voice sounding rough and shaken to his own ears. 

"I know," Vin said, rocking back on his heels, face pale and a little grey but his gaze was steady. "Sorry. I.couldn't get a better shot without fear of punching through him to you." 

"N...no. I meant...if you'd waited any longer, I'd have been that thing's breakfast. Thanks," Buck said, finding a smile and reaching out to grip Vin's shoulder for a long moment before hunting though his pockets for a handkerchief to wipe the rest of the gore from his face. "Let's get the hell out of hereyou okay?" Buck asked, pushing up and getting to his feet before offering a hand to Vin, nausea and dizziness threatening to send him to his knees again. He had to bend over for a few moments and let it pass. 

Vin was less steady -- not surprising though. Mikal had hit him hard. He nodded and shouldered the gun. "Yeahgood enough to put a little distance between us and that--uh" 

Vin stopped, a look of surprise on his face that Buck didn't understand until Vin looked down and Buck's eyes followed his to see the pointed end of something black protruding from Vin's stomach, just below his belt. The mare's leg fell with a cracking sound. 

Vin's eyes widened with fear and then just as suddenly, pain as a second black claw emerged. 

"Oh, God ..no" Buck said, hearing his voice rise even as he grabbed Vin's arms to pull him free, but the claws closed and clutched at Vin's flesh, the blue calico turning darker as blood stained the cloth. Behind him Mikal's reanimated corpse rose, still smiling, even with only half a face. 

Vin screamed, fingers digging into Bucks' hands as he tried to pull himself free, only to have the sound abruptly cut off as something dark and wet looking covered his mouth. 

It was nothing Buck had ever seen: snake-like, but not so solid, thinning and flattening as it moved only to become full again, like some bit of rotting, exposed muscle. It left trails of black gore in its path that smelled and looked more foul than any rotting flesh ever could. Another long protuberance encircled Vin's waist, jerking him roughly backward, and Buck was screaming then, and cursing, then wrenched his hands free of Vin's and dove for the gun. 

He didn't know what to shoot at, but he fired anyway, as close as he could, opening up great gaping holes in the corpse's flesh, taking off a chunk from its belly and another from its leg before jamming the gun right into the shoulder of the arm that still pierced Vin's gut and took off the whole shoulder, so that the arm hung freely, still impaling Vin from the back. He wanted to blow the rest of the unholy thing's head off but that gaping mouth and the one remaining fang were buried deep in Vin's neck and there was no way to do it without taking off Vin's head as well. 

Which might be a blessing. Vin's eyes were wide and panicked, arms flailing and grappling weakly with the ropey bonds that held him fast, choking and gagging on the thing that now not only covered his mouth but was filling it, oozing its way past his bloodless lips and down his throat. Another long tentacle had erupted from the corpse, wrapping itself tightly around Vin's thigh and across his hip, pulling and burrowing against his shirt and pants as the one at his waist slid and grappled with his shirt, exposing Vin's belly, the tanned skin painted in blood from his gut wound. 

Blood covered his neck now, from the gouging fang, and his struggles were weakening. For one breathless moment his eyes met and held Buck's, begging, pleading, screaming in fear as his throat could not. Buck felt a sob build up in his chest, but he raised the gun, planting the barrel firmly against what was left of the creature's head and levered another round into the chamber. 

He couldn't do it, though, couldn't pull the trigger and instead only swung it, jarring the creature's head back and almost taking it off anyway, balanced as precariously as it was on what was left of the creature's neck. 

He swung again, beating at it, and with a roar of both fear and anger grabbed for the slimy tentacle trying to force its way down Vin's throat. 

It gave under his hand, soft and pulpy and slick and he pulled, feeling it give up some, pull back, Vin choking again, but Buck was winning, pulling the thing free, dropping the gun to use both hands. Mikal's head was still attached but only barely, canted back so that the milky eyes and open mouth faced the sky and Buck gripped the jaw of it, ready to tear the head off, panic and mind-blanking fear taking over any rational thought save that he had to get Vin free of it 

He didn't recognize his own pain at first, only felt himself being pushed backward, then pain exploded in his shoulder and in his belly as he was thrust backward, brought up sharp and hard against the tree and vainly grappling with the two black lances that had emerged from the corpse to impale him at shoulder and through his stomach. These were not soft and pulpy, but hard and slick, like the stripped branches of a tree, pinning Buck like an insect in a display case. 

He couldn't free himself and his own blood was slicking them further, staining his clothing, dripping to the ground as he fought to get a grip on them and pull them free, or pull himself toward Vin. 

Vin had all but stopped struggling, going down with the corpse as it started to collapse, bits of it falling off where Buck had shot it; the detached arm that still pierced Vin crumbled and collapsed as Vin fell, the sprawled remnants of Mikal's body almost crushed beneath him. 

But the black, formless arms still worked, seven of them that Buck could see, including the two that held him fast. The others were wrapped around Vin, like ropes, moving and shifting some, disappearing under his clothes, where it had been torn and ripped away. He could see them moving under Vin's shirt, under his pants around his hips and groin. One, so thin as to be almost more like string than rope, danced around Vin's left ear and then slid in, oozing in like a leech. 

Vin shuddered, his hands falling lax at his side, body going still save where the bits of black muscle still probed and slid obscenely across his body beneath his clothes. His hips lifted through no action of his own, more blood stained the pale canvas of his trousers and Buck sobbed at the sight of it, seeing what he hadn't before -- it didn't just want to kill Vin, it wanted _inside_ him and was using every path available. 

"AwVinI'm sorry, pardI'm sorry" Buck said on a harsh whisper, tears flowing easily and quickly, mingling with the blood on his face, the pain not so much from his wounds as the crack that had split his heart open. 

The rest of Mikal's corpse collapsed, the flesh drying and flaking away, the bones turning to dust, and Buck screamed again as the lances that had perforated his body withdrew, turning soft and loose and drawing back, shrinking away, drawn into Vin's body like water or smoke until there was nothing of them left. The horrible movement under Vin's clothing stopped altogether, leaving Vin in a twisted sprawl, clothes half torn off and blood covering what skin Buck could see,  painted his clothing dark and wet. 

Moving was agony, and he bled more, leaving a trail of it on the dry ground as he pulled himself to Vin's body, still unsure what had happened, but needing to get to Vin. 

There was no movement and no sign of life at all. No pulse lay under the skin nor breath passed over the bloody and blackened lips. But his flesh was warm, almost hot, and the first light breeze Buck had felt lifted a few strands of Vin's hair, letting it curl around Buck's fingers as he lifted Vin's head to his lap. Of Mikal's corpse there was no sign save the grayish ash that covered the ground where Vin lay, blood turning it into thick clumps of dirt and sludge. 

"I'm sorry, Vin. I'm so, so sorry," Buck whispered, touching Vin's face gently, in a caress he'd never have dared were Vin alive to feel it. "I shoulda took its head off and yours too...I shoulda" He dropped his head to Vin's, pressing his forehead to his friend's, feeling his own blood draining him of strength, tears leaving paler tracks on Vin's face. He should try to get back, to find the horses, warn the othersalthough of what, he didn't know. Not sure what it meant that the thing had hidden itself inside Vin's corpse, half afraid Vin might become like Mikal.  And if he did? Buck didn't know what to do about it, to stop it or prevent it, if he even lived long enough to try. 

His own blood darkened Vin's clothing and skin further, blood from his shoulder dripping into Vin's hair and soaking into the strands. He thought about the gun, wondered if he could manage a shot into Vin's heart and then into his ownbut the effort was too much and what then? If that thing was _in_ Vinwhat could he dowhat could stop something that seemed to know no death at all? 

Vin was still hot under his hands, like he was being consumed by fever or some kind of fire and Buck sucked in a pained breath remembering that muchthe burned out blackness, the crisped corpses that shattered like dust when touched. There was wood enough here if he could get it, get a fire going. To build a pyre, which might be more fitting for Vin than anything, even a grave. Gently he eased Vin's head back to the ground, and shifted away, grabbing at a dry branch, and then another, dragging himself forward to get more, ignoring the blood pouring from his shoulder and belly, the weakness demanding he think out every movement before making it. 

He had a tidy pile gathered before he collapsed over it, blood soaking the wood and the ground beneath it. Listening to his own heart beat and only that, never hearing the scream that drowned out his heart beat like night swallows day. 

[1] _...an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. (Romanian)_  
   
   
  


**Chapter three:**

Nathan made them stop after an hour and drink some water, the five of them surveying the shallow trenches they'd hollowed out of the ground. Some were bigger than others -- for those bodies that had more substance to them than ash and bone.  Even Ezra had pitched in with little complaint, stripping down to his shirtsleeves to dig two small graves. It took a moment for Chris to realize that they were meant for the children and he bit back any comment he might have made, glad that Ezra had taken it on himself to care for the small bodies. 

Josiah had wondered aloud if they should try asking the girl if her kin and traditions would dictate a mass grave or single graves, but Chris only dug his shovel into the dirt and shook his head. "We told her what we were doing. She wants a say, she knows where we are." 

It was maybe unreasonable of him, but she made him both angry and evoked a feeling of helplessness that he didn't like. She was little more than a child, but she also had a will of steel and Chris had no doubt she'd fend for herself. Or maybe, possibly, come to her senses. He wasn't averse to riding out again when they left, to give her the direction of the town. Josiah had left her enough food and water for a few days and the tinkers were a traveling people. Hopefully she either had skill enough to survive or sense enough to seek help. 

He drove the edge of the shovel into the dirt again. There was only so far down they could go before they hit rock, the earth itself hard as fired clay from the long months with little or no water. A foot or so down and it would start to break up more, crumbling and falling back into the pits they dug. They'd already made the decision to dig one hole for those that were charred, the bodies wouldn't hold together enough to be moved, much less buried, and Nathan had taken on the task of gathering ashes and bits of bone onto a blanket, after they'd tossed the dead bodies of the raiders onto the wagon. 

Chris was in a foul enough mood to give thought to burning them too, but there were faces that still could be identified, maybe on wanted posters, maybe folks waiting for their men to come home. They'd send out a telegram, wire the judge, give old Pete the undertaker something to do with his time and his skills. He'd make some money off the town burying the men. Might have done the tinkers as well but that hadn't set right with Josiah, or even with Chris, though he couldn't rightly say why. Maybe just the thought of somebody profiting off what had been a tragedy. 

Josiah and Ezra said the tinkers were a traveling folk. Caravans of them crossing Europe. Chris could remember a few, usually no more than a man and his family, traveling the roads where he grew up, doing odd jobs: blacksmithing, sharpening knives, hiring out to mend fences for a few dollars or some food and then moving on again. He remembered his Ma saving up a few pennies to buy some shawl or something one of the women had made, woven and finely embroidered like the clothes these tinkers wore. It had been pretty and she'd liked it, although a few of the other women had commented on buying trash from vagrants. Chris always suspected it was because they hadn't managed to save any pennies of their own. She'd only worn it around the farm then, rarely into town, but she wore it a lot and she'd sit at night with bright threads, trying to copy the patterns. Seemed a bit of woman's foolishness to him when a warm quilt would have had more use. 

Sarah had loved fine needlework too. She didn't do much fancy work but her stitches had always been neat and small and strong, just like her. He still had shirts she'd made for him, frayed in the cloth but the seams were still sturdy. 

He drove the edge of the shovel harshly into the dirt, digging into rock and roots and tossing it up onto the pile, then glanced up at the sun. It was moving toward mid sky and Buck and Vin had been gone awhile, though not too long. Knowing Vin, he'd track until he found something, knew something about those that had ridden out or where they were going. They could have used both of them to dig here, or Buck at least. He could have sent Ezra along, knowing that, like Buck, he'd pull Vin back toward town before he got too far out or too intent on what he was after to remember to come back. Vin wasn't much of one for limits or restrictions. Buck wouldn't pull Vin back if they really did have something to go on, but he wouldn't trail along unquestioningly as JD might have or Josiah. 

He got another few inches and then decided it would have to do. He was scraping rock already. "Josiah" he called the ex-preacher over. They didn't have enough blankets for all the dead, so they'd wrapped up the women and the children; some vague sense of needing to protect even the helpless dead. He and Josiah moved one of the men into the grave Chris had dug. JD was close to, helping Nathan move one of the women. The other graves were already filled with their occupants. 

Except for the last, and Chris couldn't make himself go help Ezra. Not that he needed to. The children were small, weighed nearly nothing as easily as Ezra picked them up and laid them in their small graves, just like they were sleeping. 

Chris blinked, then hunted up a canteen to splash some water on his face, then hunted through his saddlebags for the bottle he kept there, taking a healthy swig. He heard falling dirt and only glanced back to see Josiah shoveling dirt back into the graves. He didn't turn far enough to watch Ezra. 

He did turn back to help Nathan with the blanket of ashes and bones. Seemed almost a waste of effort to bury what was left, but that thought brought him up suddenly and harshly enough to make his breath catch and his chest tighten. Someone had seen fit to bury what had been left of his wife and son before he got home and only Buck's restraining arms had kept him from digging up their bodies again. 

He lifted his end of the blanket a little higher to keep the ashes from spilling over. They let the blanket on top and Chris grabbed up the shovel again, watching the clods of dirt flatten the wool. Unlike the other graves, this one would have no mound of dirt. 

Nobody offered to venture into the trees for wood to make crosses, but Josiah had found enough small stone, some blackened by the fire, others bleached white by sun and rain and wind to lay out on top of the dirt as he said a few words. Chris didn't even know if the tinkers were Christians, didn't know if they believed in God at all. JD and Nathan bowed their heads to listen. Chris dug out a cheroot and lit it while Ezra brushed dirt and dead grass from his jacket. 

"You want us to take the bodies back to town?" JD asked him. He'd left his hat off and his hair was dirty and sweaty, shirt dirty as well. He'd been quieter than usual since the encounter with the wolves and now with the burying of the dead, but he met Chris's gaze, waiting to see if there was anything else that needed tending to. 

Chris looked up again. "We'll give Buck and Vin a little more time, see if they come back. If they don't you and Josiah and Nathan and take 'em back to town and Ezra and I'll ride out after the others. Take a break, JD," he added, knowing it wasn't JD's style to stay still for long. 

But Chris was tired and still angry and confused as he surveyed the camp again. He should send JD and the others on back, have Ezra mount up and go meet up with Vin and Buck, but he was wary of splitting them up further and his gaze shifted toward the woods. 

He didn't like any of this. And he didn't have any of the answers to the questions they were going to be asked, from Mary Travis and the Judge, if no one else. The raiding party had been big and it didn't bode well that so many men had been riding together without the benefit of cattle to drive. But maybe there was luck there too, that it had ended here, before the raiders could have swept into town if that had been their goal. 

He still wanted to know how they had all died though, tinkers and raiders alike. They'd found quite the assortment of bullet wounds and a few more of the raiders that looked as if wolves had gotten to them either before or after death, and then those that had presumably died in the fire. Nathan could be no more clearer than that. 

But at least four of the tinkers had had no real marks on them, save for some scorching that could hardly have caused death. 

JD was still standing close by, looking tense and uneasy and Chris drew in a sharp breath. There was no use in putting it off. "Ezraget mounted. Josiah, Nathan, we'll see you and JD back in town." 

The look of relief on JD's face would have been comical but Chris only gave him a nod. The whole thing made him nervous too. He just managed to keep it from showing quite so obviously. 

They checked water and weapons, Josiah taking the seat of the wagon this time with a glance toward the woods, before he clucked at the draft horse to get the wagon turned around. 

Ezra was already mounted when he took a final look around, and Chris put his foot to stirrup when the sound erupted. 

It startled all of them. The howling reached a crescendo quickly and then an inhuman wailing. Chris' horse jerked and squealed, and even the draft horse suddenly reared and looked terrified, challenging Josiah's ability to keep them from bolting. 

Then the sound stopped, an eerie quiet descending at odds with the brightness of the day. 

The yelping and barking erupted as four shadow shapes emerged form the woods, running flat out and Chris had his gun out without thinking about it, but the wolves weren't interested in them or the camp. Instead they were running, past them all, heading westward. 

And then the girl appeared, still wearing Buck's shirt, face wild and pale, her fingers digging deeply into the fur of what was the smaller of the wolves, which looked like it wanted to join the other members of its pack but stayed with her. 

" _Gadje_!" she called, turning her attention toward the camp and the men and she was running toward them. The wolf loped along beside her and she eyed all of them before stopping in front of Chris. "It isyou are law, yes? The ones who came herethem," she lifted her chin sharply toward the wagon Josiah sat upon, the bodies of the raiders still visible. She looked around again, eyes narrowing. "Your friendsthe long hair one, this one..." she said, pulling at the shirt she wore. 

"I believe she means Vin and Buck," Ezra said, maybe too obviously, and Chris scowled. 

"Yeahthey rode after the ones that escaped." 

The girl spat out another word, clearly angry and disturbed. "You ridetheywhat they followit's not the _alb raid_ [2]the _daespen_ [3]Mikal. He went with themhe was called...but he is gone." 

Chris strode forward, closing the distance between them. The wolf growled and crouched  and Chris hesitated, but his lips pressed to a thin line and he glared at both wolf and girl. "What are you telling us? Where'd those other wolves get off to?" 

She struggled with it and Chris didn't know if it were reluctance or just the lack of words, but before he could prompt her, she looked up, meeting his glare with one of her own. 

"The _alb raid,_ released an evil. Your men follow itand Mikal is dead.  The _daevas_ is free. Your menit will kill them. They may be dead now" 

Chris took only a second to process any of it: how the girl could know, understanding none of what she was telling them. But he understood fear, and desperation, and the wolves had raced after something.  "What do you know? What--" 

She took the final step and held out one hand. "We can show youwe follow," she said, gesturing at the wolf at her side. 

Chris glanced around quickly. All but Josiah and himself were already mounted. He grabbed the girl's arm and pulled her toward his horse, mounting and then holding out his hand. With no hesitation at all, she gripped it and allowed herself to be pulled up behind him. Settled she looked at the small grey wolf and spoke to it, urgency in the guttural command. The wolf whined once and then turned about, starting to run. Chris urged Pony to follow and out of the corner of his eye saw Josiah jump off the wagon and take the reins of his horse from Nathan. 

They rode hard, keeping the pace to what the horse could maintain for while, Chris hoping Vin would stick to his usual pace of slow and deliberate when he was tracking, but knowing if he and Buck had caught sight of something, they both might well have ridden hard and fast. 

The wolf leading them kept pace, racing ahead but keeping in sight, waiting before it got too far ahead. The obvious intelligence of the animal made something inside Chris squirm a little. Wolves didn't act this way, and even if the tinkers had half-tamed them, this one was making him start tracking down paths of fancy that made him uncomfortable. 

Behind him the girl hung on tight, not protesting what had to be an uncomfortable ride with bare legs and a bare bottom. Her small hands, dirty as they were, gripped each other firmly and for the first time Chris noticed a line of tattoos along her forearm, intricate and black, from her wrists to her elbow. 

"Chris," Ezra drew abreast of him, pointing. 

There were buzzards circling ahead. A good number of them and something inside Chris went cold, his anger at the girl rising from no place that made any rational sense. How could she have known? Or the wolves for that matter? 

He heard Josiah murmuring a prayer as he spurred his horse a little faster, the girl tightening her grip. Ezra kept pace with him, already pulling his rifle from its scabbard. 

The wolf ahead of them was pacing, keeping a good distance from the body strung between the trees and paying little attention to the buzzards screeching and scolding form the rocks and trees. They were perturbed and vocal about being interrupted. 

A quick glance told Chris what he needed to know and the tightness in his chest and gut eased as he reined in, taking in the flayed chest and the gory entrails -- and the fair hair. No one he knew and he twisted in the saddle. "That yourhe your kinfolk?" he asked her but the girl only shook her head, then released her grip, pushing off Chris' back to slide to the ground. 

" _Gadje_  _alb raid_ one of **_them_** ," she said and spat on the ground, but approached the body with little hesitation. 

Chris dismounted as well, Nathan following. Ezra had that stone face of his up, casting an eye all around them, on the look out or just not wanting to look other than to reassure himself, as Chris had done, that the corpse belonged to neither Vin nor Buck. Josiah's lips were moving but Chris wasn't hearing anything. A glance at JD showed him wide-eyed and a little white around the mouth. He was starting to look like he'd had one too many shocks today, but he kept his mount quiet and Chris was reasonably sure he wasn't likely to pass out or get sick. 

Not that he'd have blamed him. Anything or anyone who could do that to a man, living or dead, was made of either stronger or more vicious stuff than Chris thought himself to be, and he'd killed enough men with little cause to know how vicious he could be. And he'd heard Vin talk, never in much detail and with something between regret and amusement on his face. Yeah, Vin might could do something like this given motivation enough, but it never really crossed Chris' mind that he had done it. 

Nathan had a grim set to his mouth as he passed by the girl to make his own assessment.  "Been here a while," he said, after a moment. "Maybe this morningLord," he breathed out and he used one of his knives to examine the tattered remnants of flesh surrounding the chest and belly. "I thinkI _think_ " he started, looking around on the ground, "he might have been dead before he was'fore they did this to him." 

"Hey, Chris?" JD's voice sounded a bit higher than usual but he was steady, his horse walking slowly. "There's more tracks here. You think Buck and Vin saw this, maybe went on?" 

The wolf whined and Chris jerked. He'd forgotten about the beast. But it was moving too, picking out a trail parallel to JD's. 

"Can you pick it out, JD?" Chris asked, striding back to his horse and the girl went with him. The wolf could probably track it better than JD, better than Vin, but he didn't want to find them  out in the middle of nowhere on whatever hunt this girl had them on. 

"Yeah" 

Chris whirled on the girl and gripped her arms suddenly. "Now you tell meyou know who did this?" 

She flinched but met his gaze, that pointed chin lifting a bit and her lips curling to reveal more snarl than smile. "The _daevas_. _Akmanna_ " she jerked her head toward the corpse. "He has fed...but it has beentoo many years. He would haveMikal" she said and her breath caught a little, the first break in her armor and her defiance Chris had seen. Mikal would have been important to her. Maybe her only kin left in the world. If this Akmanna had killed him as well or planned to... 

"What do you mean fed?" Ezra demanded, his ears sharper than Chris', apparently. 

The girl shook her head then drew a sharp breath when Chris gave her a little shake. "The _daevas_ thedemon!" she said, pouncing on the word, eyes growing wide as she saw recognition in Chris' face and in Ezra and Josiah's at the word. "The _gadje_ they freed it. It feedshuntsMikalhe will be with it, was with it. But he is gone," she said and Chris could only stare at her as she struggled with words he didn't understand. 

Frustrated he pulled her toward his horse again, not that she needed the provocation. She seemed as eager to be moving and after her missing kinsman as they were. Seeing them mounted the wolf took off again, loping ahead faster than it had before. 

It couldn't have been more than ten minutes of hard riding before they found the rocky barrier. Two horses stood there, but only one Chris recognized. That and the faded red of Buck's undershirt standing out against the dull desert colors. 

Nathan pulled ahead, practically vaulting off his horse's back before it stopped, and JD was right behind him. 

Ezra stayed a-horse again, rifle ready as the animal danced around, tossing its head at the sight and scent of blood. Chris almost forgot the girl was behind him when he tried to dismount, feeling shaky and cold again. Buck was sprawled on his back and unmoving, shirt open and a flash of blue caught Chris' eyes. The red of his undershirt didn't hide the dark stains that had spread across his chest or turned the pale sand below him nearly black. 

The girl only slipped off the back of his horse, touching down lightly, and Chris jerked his head around to watch her. Her eyes weren't on the man on the ground but darting quickly around her, around them. Chris wanted to look, felt he should because whatever had done this to that poor bastard hanging between the branches back there had... hurt... Buck. He wasn't willing to think any worse than that. 

He found himself on the ground beside Buck, squeezing in beside his friend's shoulder as Nathan and JD eased him onto his side, revealing the back of his union suit, so blood-soaked that Chris couldn't make out the wound. The blue of another shirt was almost dulled and dirty, nearly black with blood. Nathan shoved the cloth away, and Chris stared at it, knowing what it was, but unable to make sense of it. No sense in any of this... 

The tan of Buck's face had faded to grey, the pallor enough in and of itself to drive home the worst of Chris' thoughts. But he couldn't think them, he _wouldn't_ think them. 

"Buck?" his voice sounded as pale to him as Buck's face looked, and he swallowed, his hand hovering in the air, but there was next to no place he could touch that wasn't covered in blood. watched, frozen as Nathan's darker fingers ghosted across throat and chest, seeking a pulse, trailing lightly in the still-sleeping blood.  Only by following those dark fingers could he get his eyes to focus, his mind to admit what it was seeing. Two wounds, ragged and wet and thick as axe handles, pierced Buck, at shoulder and gut. 

His hands, hovering in the air, trembled. "Buck?" 

Nathan was speaking now, then louder, snapping out commands and JD moved jerkily, heading for Nathan's horse and his saddle bags, but it was all so fuzzy at the edges and slow. Chris didn't recognize his own hands reaching out until Nathan grabbed one and pressed it firmly to Buck's shoulder, into that slick mass of torn flesh... 

He wanted to vomit. 

"Chris. Chris! Dammit...press hard!" 

Everything snapped back into place then, his friend was dying at his feet and he couldn't even get two thoughts to string together. He did as he was told, feeling the warm blood and chill skin beneath his fingers. Nathan took the bandages JD brought him and packed them beneath Buck to stop the bleeding from the other side. Chris leaned harder, ignoring the tearing of cloth, ignoring the fact that JD was stripping off his shirt and Josiah was as well because Nathan needed more padding, more bandages. 

Chris focused intently on the gaping hole in Buck's shoulder, the edge of his vision barely extending to his hands where they covered it, where blood oozed between his fingers. He leaned down, palm pressed flat to the wound, so hard Buck should have protested, should have flinched. 

Should have done something. Nothing. His face was as still as any corpse's, stiller than any sleeping man's, stiller than Chris had ever seen it. His face... 

"Ease up now, Chris...ease up," Nathan pulled at his hands, trying to loosen Chris' desperate grip. Chris forced himself to relax, to trust Buck to Nathan's skill, and let him slip a folded up bit of cloth over the wound, before pressing his hand down again. 

"Nathan?" The unspoken question hung between them, and Chris silently begged for a miracle he didn't deserve. He couldn't tell if Buck were breathing or not, but he told himself Nathan wouldn't be trying so hard, working so fast if there was no hope. And the blood was still seeping, although not flowing, slowly soaking the makeshift bandage. Chris pressed harder, as if through sheer effort he could divert the reaper's claws. 

"He's lost a lot of blood...a lot...that shoulder..." Nathan said but he was shifting Buck, checking the exit wounds, forcing Chris to shift with him or lose his grip. "The belly...it's through and through too. Gut shot...like that. I don't know what's torn up inside. Hold him up, there, JD...Josiah. Need your canteen." 

Gut wounds were bad...yeah...but years of bitter experience told Chris these injuries weren't from bullets. He sucked in a breath at that realization, already sure he could smell bile and the foulness, rot and decay. Chris shook his head; it couldn't end like this. He wouldn't let it. 

"Come on, Wilmington, you sorry son of a bitch. Don't cut and run on me now." His free hand cupping the back of Buck's neck, Chris bent almost double, bringing his face close to Buck's. He didn't want to see what Nathan was doing, didn't want to see the flow and bubble of the pink-tinged carbolic, needed instead to make sure Buck heard every word. "You hang on...I'm not expecting to shake free of you just yet." The denial he whispered was much softer than the one screaming in his head, and the touch a far cry from the one he wanted to lay, to grab the man up and hold tight and refuse even death her fair turn at him. 

"I can go back for the wagon," JD offered, sounding as desperate as Chris felt. 

"Too long," Nathan said. Chris lifted his head to follow Nathan's gaze as he scanned the barren landscape. Too far to go back for the wagon. Not much of anything around to make a litter with, and miles of broken land between them and the town. 

They were west of Four Corners, and a-ways off the main road, closer to Chris' shack than anything else. "My place," he snarled, finding the only thing he had to offer, other than the pressure of his hand. 

"I'm gonna need--" 

"Give me a list, Nathan," Ezra said, nudging his horse closer. "This wash rolls out to the road into town. I can gather what you need, change horses..." 

Nathan rattled off the list and Chris didn't dispute the choice. Ezra's memory was likely to serve them better than anything. 

"Should we move him?" Chris asked, rephrasing the question Nathan had never answered. If Buck was dying, would it be any kindness to haul him on horseback-- if Buck was dying it wouldn't be out here in the desert, it would be in a bed, the closest Chris could make it to in a woman's arms, the way Buck had always claimed he wanted to go. 

"He ain't dead yet, damn it." Nathan nailed him with an angry glare, and Chris dropped his gaze, accidentally letting it drift lower. He looked away, into the late afternoon sun, letting it burn that sight from his vision. "Need to get to these...Cauterize if I can," Nathan rattled on, when Chris really didn't want to know any more. "They's already turned bad, and that don't make no sense." The dark eyes met Chris' again, but there was more determination there than hope. "I'll do what I can." 

It would have to be enough. Chris told himself Buck was stubborn and he loved life too much to give up easy. But it would be a damn sight easier to believe that if he would only wake up, or move. Chris would take a curse or even a moan at this point, but he got neither. 

"Where's Vin?" 

Josiah's question jerked Chris' attention around again, a second dread kicking up hard and viciously against the first. "He'd have gone for help." His eyes darted to the crumpled bit of white, cast aside and now covered in sand that clung to it. Vin's shirt, as bloody and torn as Buck's. It couldn't all be Buck's blood. A body didn't have that much blood in it, did it? 

"We'd have passed him," Josiah pointed out. And they would have. The tinker's camp was closer to this place than the town and Vin would know it. 

Chris' eyes automatically scanned the skies, looking for something that made no sense until he saw a lone buzzard, flying past them, back the way they'd come. He didn't see any ahead of them. And there were two horses here but neither of them was Vin's mount. 

He needed Nathan and Josiah for Buck, Chris refusing to give up until there was nothing left to fight for. "JD..." he started to have him look around, but JD was nearly as pale as Buck, kneeling beside them, white knuckled hands gripping his thighs. "Put pressure here," he said and waited until JD slid his hand under Chris' and moved, leaning all his slight weight into the wound as if his strength alone could anchor Buck's soul to this earth. 

Chris was better at tracking pumas or coyotes than he was at sorting out the mixed signals hoof prints gave him, but there were boot prints as well and his eyes caught on the drying blood on the tree, the two perfect nicks in the dead trunk as if spikes had been driven into it. High and low and he didn't need to look back at Buck to know they'd match up. A lance or a spear...like the gutted corpse. That looked like Indian work. Buck and Vin had run into something out here and Chris could make no more sense of it than he'd been able to make of the tinker camp. There were tracks leading toward town, Ezra's obscuring some of them, but they were there and Chris was tracker enough to know the elongated stride of a horse at full gallop. 

If Vin had headed for town, Ezra would find him. There'd been a fight here and no way to know if Vin was hurt as well... 

Maybe hurt and confused, although Chris couldn't see him mounting up and leaving Buck here, exposed to the sun, unless he'd thought Buck dead already. 

There was nothing else they could do and Nathan's call brought him back. Buck was bandaged and treated as much as Nathan could do here and Josiah's arms were waiting. No question who'd ride double, Buck needed Josiah's boundless strength. 

"You..." he glared at the girl, still standing beside his horse where he'd left her. The wolf lay in her shadow. "What the hell is your name anyway?" 

"Sonia," she said, chin lifting. 

Chris only grunted and went to get Buck's horse. "Can you ride?" he asked and got a small nod. 

Nathan and Josiah were already moving off, as fast as they dared. JD had his horse's reins held tightly in bloody hands. 

Chris gave the girl a leg up, but had her hold onto the saddle horn. He placed the reins of Buck's horse in JD's hand. He didn't want her riding off. 

"What about Vin?" JD asked as Chris mounted. 

"Looks like he headed toward town," Chris said, not giving voice to the disquiet that plagued him. "Vin can take care of himself." 

JD looked unconvinced, and Chris didn't try to reassure him. He'd have said the same about Buck. 

The girl, Sonia, didn't protest being led, but she murmured a few words to the wolf, who stood and began a lazy lope past the rocks and along the wash. 

"What the hell are you doing?" 

"She finds the others," Sonia said. "Your friend..." Her chin lifted up to where Josiah had Buck securely in front of him. "The claws of the _daespen._..they foul the wounds." 

"Meaning..." 

She shook her head, dark hair falling over her face. When she looked up again, the defiance that had held so firmly in her face was nearly gone. "This is...the _Hanash,_ my people, are the keepers...your friend. The other one. You should find him." 

"And I suppose you know where he's gone?" Chris snapped out. "You got something more to say, girl, you'd better spit it out." 

Sonia shook her head, frustration in her face. "The demon will have taken your friend! This...all this," she gestured behind them. "This is the work of the _daespen_! The demon is free. He has taken your friend...he will take more." 

"Well, what does this demon...what's it want?" JD asked, twisting in his saddle. 

"The world. It seeks... to open the world to the Destroyer." 

"The devil is coming?" JD said, purely incredulous. "You ain't making any sense." 

"Not...your devil. Not your God. Akmanna is...he is very, very old. My people...they trapped him. Held him, for...before we crossed the sea. Before my... _bunic_ [4], before his... Your people, the **_gadje_** , they have let him loose again." 

"I don't care what we've let loose. Do you know where they are, where your...demon would go?" Chris demanded. The girl looked like she wanted to answer but she shook her head. "Then shut up and ride," Chris snarled and kneed his horse to catch up with Nathan and Josiah. "If she tries to take off, JD, shoot her," he tossed back, seeing the shock on the younger man's face. 

JD wouldn't be able to do it, but Chris would and could and from the expression on Sonia's face, she believed him.  
  

_[2]  alb raid -- white raiders_  
 _[3]  daespen -- demon spawn_  
 _[4]  bunic -- grandfather_

**Chapter four:**

The sun nearly blinded him, but he couldn't look away, once he'd opened his eyes to see it. The brightness bled away the blue of the sky, hushed the green of the trees and grasses to faded gray, burned and seared and scorched him until his skin felt like the embers of a fire only waiting to be brought roaring back to life. He might as well be blind for all that he could see. 

He could hear though. Birds and the whine of insects, the rustle of wind through leaves he could no longer see. The rough, wet, sound of breathing close by. 

And smell. Copper bright and acrid, sour and sweet, the stench of decay and the sweet smell of grasses turned fragrant by too much sun and too little rain. 

Bile and blood were bitter on his tongue, and something foul and acid tasting that made his mouth burn and his throat ache which reminded him of other aches he should feel. Without thinking his hands pressed to his belly remembering the sharp-edged slicing and tearing of his insides, the ripping pain of his skin giving way to the sharp end of whatever had impaled him. 

Impaled him. Torn him inside out, touched him and violated him. The bile taste was sharper and his stomach convulsed and he rolled, spitting out the taste, the oily foulness that still lay upon his tongue. He could feel it on his skin, drying now and tacky, across his face and along his belly, the feel of it still on his back and between his legs, and he shook and felt his stomach heave again, remembering and not wanting to, the feel of that thing crawling inside him, through mouth and ears and nose, sliding between his legs to his ass, filling him until he would either choke from it or burst. 

_Inside him._

And it was there still he knew, with growing awareness, feeling movement that should have shown beneath his skin but didn't, that should be visibly oozing from him like sweat or shit or piss but only remained inside and he clawed at his clothes to find it, see it, feeling the sob build up in his throat, the scream he hadn't been able to voice before. It broke the near silence, the birds falling quiet, the insects going still and even the wind seemed to hold up on its passage as Vin screamed and clawed at himself. 

The laughter rose up then, not his own and not in his ears, but in his head and he clutched at his temples, knowing madness was this, this laughing voice in his head, this echoing, cruel amusement at his fear and disquiet, mocking him, tasting his despair and fear and feeding on it, letting it grow, nudging it into full blossomed terror. 

There was no running from it; he could scarcely get to his feet, stumbling when he tried and falling, the impact softened by the solid body beneath him. He drew back, hearing the snap and crunch of wood. His hand clutched at fabric: damp, blood-soaked fabric and Vin swallowed his own panic, recognizing the dark hair, the red cotton shirt, gripping and rolling Buck to his back and choking again at the amount of blood that soaked Buck's clothes, that had pooled into the dirt and grasses below. 

He sought frantically for a pulse, sobbing aloud when he found it, but Buck was cold and sweating, face a horrible shade of gray and blood still welled sluggishly into the wounds at his shoulder and belly. 

Vin tore off his own shirt, the fabric ripping apart and none too clean, but he wadded it up, pressed it into the belly wound to stop the bleeding, and then at the shoulder, Buck still and unmoving through it all. "BuckBucklinplease" Vin whispered, snapping back from the momentary distraction to feel that thing within him demand his attention once more. 

He dropped his head, sucking in air, his fingers and hands painted with a mixture of Buck's blood and his own, both mingled with the dark smears of whatever had crept out of Mikal's corpse and into him. 

Buck's blood was fresher, redder, glistening on his skin and he stared at it. Wet and richly colored, seeping into the small creases of his knuckles, spreading thin and pinkish over his palm. His nails were caked with it, darker, drying crusts of it forming as it was touched by sun and air. It fascinated him, the different hues of itthe smell of it. This was the source of the coppery-sweet scent. His hand rose to his face as if it was a thing apart and the wet fingers brushed over his lips, painting them. His tongue tasted, licked at it, let the salty flavor ease the bile back, wipe the harsh metallic, bitterness from his tongue. He greedily began lick his fingers, only to return them to the wound on the body below, to get fresh blood and press for more, but this body was dying and the blood wouldn't come so fast. He pulled the cloth away, feeling hunger reel through him and pressed his mouth to the shoulder wound, tongue pushing aside fabric and flesh to suck and lick, then at the belly, where the sour taste of stomach acid and bile tainted the fresh blood but didn't stop him. 

His hand roved over the still figure seeking more wounds and faltering over the knife at Buck's side. 

He freed it, admiring the sharp reflective edge and glimpsed his own face in the shiny blade -- mouth blood-smeared and eyes nearly black -- before turning his attention to the food and feast before him. The blade would cut nicely; huge chunks of flesh that he could suck clean of the precious, sweet blood. 

He pulled the tattered shirt back, exposing the broad chest already stained dark, letting his fingers linger over the otherwise smooth skin, a different hunger rising in him at the face that was both familiar and not. His hands traced the skin, down his chest to the concave belly, to the dark hairs theredried and matted with blood. The knife followed to dance over the skin of the man's chest. The heart still beat, was still full of blood, enough to feed a starving manand that hunger pushed to the forefront, tearing his attention from need that heated his loins and reminded him of the ache and burn in his ass. He centered the blade just under the breast bone to cut up and open the chest cavity to expose the waiting blood-filled muscle. 

He'd barely pierced the skin when he heard it, eyes narrowing as he turned his head, listening. Hooves. Paws. Many of them, pounding the earth, sending a drum beat of warning through him. A scent on the air, of fur and musk, blood and hatred. 

He whirled around, seeing the mounts of the mortals, still tethered, a flicker of memory haunting him and he moved, running toward the black beast. It jerked away and bit at him and he struck it, making it shy away and rear, trying to pull away. He was stronger, yanking the beast down again and ignoring its rolling eyes as he reached for the familiar feel of leather reins and the stirrup, hauling himself up and jerking the beast's head around. 

Turning away, to runto hide, escape the hunters that would soon be nipping at his heels. Familiarity and knowledge left him, even as he kneed the horse, lifting his nose to the air and closing his eyes as the animal leapt forward. 

Like the harsh, bright cut of one of Kali's arrows he felt the tug, the knowledge, the echo of himself a day ahead, leading a path through where there would be food and needs met, death cutting through the frail mortal lives waiting for him as his master, the other fuller part of his soul, resided. It had been too long since he had heard that call, too long since he'd been able to answer it. 

But it promised him sustenance and succor, and the laughing promise of lives at his feet, of blood and the full power of the living his for the taking. 

His own laughter burst forth then, bright and shining, whipped away by the wind at his face and the echo of Akmanna's laughter and welcome from miles and days away.  
   
   
  


**Chapter five:**

Within sight of his cabin, Chris spurred his horse on, past Nathan and Josiah, barely managing to get his horse tied to one of the poles on the porch. He didn't even have to think about it, didn't want to, as he stoked up the stove and set a pot of water heating before the others had even arrived. 

Then it was water drawn from the well, the bucket set aside when Nathan and Josiah stopped. Buck was still breathing, but he was still grey as ash, and still out, dead weight between Chris and Nathan as they got him inside and Nathan chose the table over the bed at first, so he could work on Buck from any side. 

Buck was too tall and Josiah settled it by pulling Chris' post bed away from the wall. Once they had Buck settled there, they moved the table, and then they moved the bed again with Buck on it. 

The single room was too small for all of them, and after giving Nathan what sheets and bedding he had, Chris took the tight quarters as a sign to do what else could be done, while Josiah and Nathan used knives to cut the bloody undershirt free. 

Chris went back or the water, then again, before finally realizing that JD was there, hovering outside the door, the girl close to him but sitting on the rough planks of the porch.  He sent JD off to look after the horses but that left him with the girl. 

He was half tempted to tie her to one of the posts. She hadn't given them nearly enough answers, despite her fanciful babblings when they'd found buck. She was back to being silent and stoic, watching them, but making no move to leave, nor to help. 

"Get him water when he needs it," Chris finally ordered and handed her the bucket, then shoved her toward the door, standing behind her for a moment, watching Nathan and Josiah rinse out one blood-soaked piece of cloth after another. The girl stared then moved forward, pouring hot water from the pot on the stove into one basin and picking up the red-tinged one to take it out and empty it. 

She was far more silent than either Josiah or Nathan and Chris had a faint twinge of conscience on recalling that she'd likely as not seen her entire family slaughtered. 

And that slaughter looked to lead to another one. Compassion would only get them so far and Josiah was far better suited to it than Chris. He left her and went to gather up wood for the stove. 

The tasks ran out soon enough, though and JD took over hauling the water, face showing all the worry and anxiety that both Chris and Sonia refused to show. 

Nathan had the bleeding stopped more or less, but he was fretting too, trying to clean the wounds with hot water and a little lye soap, but Chris didn't need to breathe deep to know the wounds had already gone putrid. It was impossible, and Nathan was as baffled as Chris had ever seen him, but there was no denying the flesh around the punctures had already started to rot, the strident lines of red and black spreading across Buck's chest and abdomen and back all indicators of gangrene that Chris had seen far too commonly in the war. 

It had only been hours though, not days and he found himself facing off with Sonia, who still sat on the porch, small hands clasped together, wearing a too big pair of Chris' pants, tied up with a length of rope. She had a cup of water in her hands and she'd loosely braided the dirty black hair back, showing off her very young and too thin face. Too old face, because she didn't flinch under Chris' appraisal. 

"Those wounds have gone bad already. What did that?" he demanded, not sure it would help Nathan or Buck, but there was little else he could do. Buck already had one foot in the grave and they all knew it. 

"The _daespen_ ," she said, quiet, dark eyes unapologetic and distant, maybe cold. "The demonit's" she extended her hand, wriggling her fingers. ".is poison. It could not.be far. His heart was" she tapped her chest. "It beats." 

The urge to shake answers out of her was still strong, but frustration hadn't occluded all his reason. She didn't have the words, her English labored and broken. 

The sound of hoof beats brought him around, hand going for his gun, but he recognized Ezra soon enough, riding hard, saddle bags full and a sack slung in front of him. He eyed Chris as he dismounted, relaxing only fractionally as Chris came forward to help him pull down the supplies. 

"He's still with us," Chris said gruffly. "Vin?" 

"No sign of him." Ezra eyed the girl then handed her the reins of his borrowed horse. "I'll ride back out." 

"Not just yet," Chris said and led the way. Better they see to Buck and then plan. 

Ezra's face went from concerned to green at the smell in the small cabin, eyes wide as he sought Chris then Nathan's faces for some explanation. The small windows were open and Nathan took the sacks without a word, digging through to find the carbolic, as well as two bottles of grain alcohol. 

Chris couldn't look when the carbolic bubbled and frothed in the wounds. Didn't want to think about the fact that Buck didn't even flinch. Put his back to the wall when Nathan found his knives and scalpels and started cutting away at the dead flesh. It was all too desperate, as if Nathan knew what he was doing would do little good but couldn't stop trying. 

But Chris forced himself to remain, even when JD bolted from the room and Ezra left as well, with less urgency but no less grimly. 

Josiah hunted through the packs and handed Chris several bundles of dried herbs, the dry stuff braided tightly together. "Put that in a pan on the stove" he said quietly, barely noticing that his fingers were encrusted with dried blood and gore. "Sweet grass. It'll help with the smell," he said and then offered Nathan another metal pan to drop the bits of dead flesh into. 

Vin had offered the bundles to Nathan months back, presents from Kojay out at the reservation, who knew Nathan's work -- different from his own, but with the same purpose. Chris dropped one of them on the end of the stove directly, the hot iron prompting the braided stuff to start smoldering almost immediately. It did help the smell and he dropped the other two into a tin pan to heat up more slowly. 

Nathan was nearly done. Cleaning again and the wounds were bigger, from where he'd cut. They had Buck on his side, held that way between rolled up blankets, another blanket covering his legs. Pads of cloth soaked with carbolic were pressed to the four punctures, hiding them, Nathan meticulously wrapping cleaner strips of linen around them. 

When he was done, he stretched, the popping of his spine audible in the otherwise silent room. He met Chris' eyes briefly and shook his head. "Ain't no more I can do. He's lost a lot of blood and those woundsThis ain't right. They shouldn't have gone so bad so fast. It don't make no sense and I I ain't got nothing tono way to stop it," he said angrily, eyes flashing and frustration and confusion plain on his face. "I can try some compressesbut they've" 

"Nathanstop it," Chris said, wanting to rail at him or demand, but it wasn't in Nathan's power to fix everything and not this at all. Still, his voice was harder than he meant it to be, the tone sharp enough to end Nathan's mutterings, shock him a little. Josiah gave Chris an equally hard look but said nothing, only started dropping Nathan's instruments into the pan of hot water to clean them once more. For the next time. 

Nathan scrubbed at his face, then examined his own hands for a moment before carefully plunging them into the still warm water of the basin at his elbow. He scrubbed at his nails and the creases of his hands, head bowed and all his attention on getting his hands cleaned, then stopped. He lifted his hands from the water and stared at them until Josiah covered them with a relatively clean bit of toweling, drying them for Nathan. 

"Can you watch him?" Josiah asked Chris, taking Nathan's elbow to guide him outside, away from his patient, away from his failure, and into the sunshine. 

Chris didn't answer, but he didn't move either, at first. Buck hadn't moved, barely made a sound, his breathing shallow and slow, taking in barely enough air to make the bandages rise and fall. His skin was still grey-hued and shiny with water and sweat, the dark hair limp and stringy. 

Chris found his hand hovering over the dark head, as if it were no part of him at all. He let it fall, stroking the dark hair back for a moment before simply resting on Buck's head. 

He hooked a chair closer with his foot and sat, not really wanting to look at Buck, but not wanting to leave him alone either. "Ah, Buckthis ain't the way it's supposed to be," he said softly. There should be a woman here. Or it should be fast; in a fight, sudden and unseen. He expected the same for himself, even though he no longer went hunting for it as avidly as he once had. 

He let a hand rest on Buck's chest, feeling the slow heartbeat there, the shallow rise of his chest. Maybe he should take comfort in the fact that Buck didn't seem to be in any pain, no more aware now than he had been when they found him. "What the hell happened out there?" he asked, barely a whisper. "Don't even know who or what we should be looking for. You need to tell us, Buck. I need to knowI'm not up to chasing more ghostsdon't leave me chasing yours." He leaned close, half hoping Buck would hear him and recognize him, know Chris was there. "Should be a pretty lady here for you, stud. Or even one not so pretty. Don't seem to matter to you. Don't go disappointing the womenthey might not ever forgive you." 

Chris thought he might not either. 

He heard the door behind him and glanced around to see JD slip inside, looking scared and solemn. The boy fidgeted, eyes shifting between Buck and the door, then back to Chris. "Nathan saidhe'she's dying. Is he?" he asked, fast and hushed. 

Why JD'd take Chris's word over Nathan's made no sense and Chris only stared at him for voicing what Chris wasn't ready to yet. 

Only it wasn't that. JD didn't want to believe either. What he wanted was a little hope, and that wasn't usually Chris's strong suit. But he didn't have the answer JD wanted either. "He's still with  us," he said and got to his feet, his hand lingering on Buck's shoulder for a long moment. "Whyn't you sit with him for a bit?" he offered. 

JD looked like he might refuse, but he pulled his hat off and fingered it then strode resolutely to the chair Chris had vacated. He sat and pulled the chair closer, not having Chris's long reach. His hat went on the floor and JD's head dropped for a long moment, shoulders lifting as he took a deep breath and then made a small face. 

Then he started talking. Chris didn't want to hear what he said, wasn't sure JD would want him to hear it either. 

At least that's what he told himself as he fled to the porch. 

Three faces looked up at him: Ezra, Nathan and Josiah all waiting for the worst. 

"JD's got things to say to him," was all he said, then hunted in his pocket for a cheroot, striking a match against one of the posts. 

The smoke was hot and bitter and Chris savored it, inhaling deeply to wipe the smell of rot and blood away. 

"Should we look for Vin?" Ezra said after a moment, leaning on the railing, his hat hiding his eyes. "I didn't encounter him, but I didn't dally long to look or ask about town. His horse was not at the livery nor on the street that I saw." 

Chris chewed on it and glanced down at Sonia, who was once more studying her hands, quiet and still. He took a step off the porch and planted himself in front of her, standing and staring until she looked up. "Would they have taken him? Those raiders. Thatkin of yours. Mikal." 

It took her a moment to figure out what he was asking and then she nodded. "Mikal is gone. Dead. He would have taken another. Maybe your friend. The Hanashwolves. They will hunt him." 

"And then what?" Chris demanded. 

"Bring him back, if they cankill him if they cannot." 

Chris didn't even think about what he was doing, only reached down and dragged the girl to her feet, grip tight enough to bruise. "Kill him for what?" he snapped out, his movements bringing Josiah to his feet and Nathan as well. "What harm did he do to yours? What the hell kind of people are you?" he snarled, giving the girl a shake. 

"It is the demon!" she screamed back at him, not flinching at the violence and her face twisted in anger. "GahHhsstt Akmanna is free, you idiot _gadje_! Your friendthat one," she jerked her head toward the cabin. "The missing onehe will have him. There is no other way! Fools! Stupidstupid!" she said and started kicking at Chris' leg, her words sliding into her own language. 

The kicks didn't hurt much \-- bare feet unable to do much damage, but the mumbled words and invectives were broken, choked. It took Chris a moment to realize she was sobbing, dusky face streaked with tears. She was fighting, but not really trying to break away. 

Silently, Josiah moved in and pulled Chris' hands away, pulling the girl back and offering her his handkerchief. Josiah said something to her, something Chris vaguely recognized as being said in Latin. Sonia took the handkerchief and blew her nose into it then glared at Chris. "Take me back." 

"Take youback where?" Chris snapped out. 

"To the camp. For helpfor your friends," she said. 

"There's nothing there." 

"Take me back. There is help--" 

"Not going to happen," Chris said. 

"Chris" Nathan slid into his view. "You need to listen." 

"Listen to what? There's nothing there, Nathan." 

Nathan glanced at the girl. "You know something that can help Buck?" he asked jerking his head toward the cabin. 

She followed his gaze then looked back. "Magda _bunica_ [ 5]she waits." 

"There was someone else there?" Ezra demanded. 

She gave a curt nod. "She can help," she said flatly and glared at Chris once more. " _Gadje_ to save your friend." 

Chris didn't know what to think. Possible, yes, that others had been hidden in the woods. They'd been so rattled by the wolves they hadn't checked or asked. 

"Ezra, you're with me. Get her a horse, and a spare. It'll take us another hourbe near sunset," Chris said to Nathan as Josiah went to help Ezra with the horses. "Maybe later." 

"Fast as you can, Chris," Nathan said, dark eyes worried and maybe a little angry. 

Chris grabbed a coil of rope and this time he did bind Sonia's hands. "You'd better not be leading me on a wild goose-chase, girl," he growled out and jerked her toward the waiting horses. 

Chris stayed close to her, Ezra on the  other side, pushing their horses as hard as they could. 

The stench of burned earth had faded, only a wisp of it here or there. The vultures were gathering, drawn by the bodies piled in the back of the abandoned wagon, the draft horse fretful and nervous. They'd pulled the wagon a few feet toward town, but nickered when they saw the approaching riders and Chris cursed silently, then dismounted and started to loose them, offering the animals water. Ezra helped Sonia down and waited. 

"Where is she?" Chris demanded as he worked the leather strappings. "This Magda?" 

"The woods," Sonia said and started walking toward them. Ezra caught her shoulder and made her wait until Chris had finished with the animals.  He hobbled them, not sure if they'd take the bodies back or not. Probably, but he was in a hurry and he didn't want to leave the horses for long. They'd take them back at least. 

He pulled his rifle and waited while Ezra got his, then nudged the girl back toward the woods. 

Sonia took the hint, leading them back through the broken brush to the same small clearing and  then drew them further in, to where the canopy of leaves all but obliterated the sunlight, then stood while Chris and Ezra watched the area warily. Lowering her head, the girl gave a small whuff of sound -- it could have been a bark -- and a few moments later one of the wolves stuck its face through some brush. It was small and dull brown, barely more than a kit. Cautiously it approached and Sonia dropped to her knees. The animal came closer, nuzzling and licking and she gripped its fur, a smile touching her lips. 

"Where is she? This Magda?" 

"She rests," Sonia said, getting awkwardly to her feet and glancing upward. 

Chris grabbed at her and the small wolf growled baring sharp teeth. "No more riddles. Where is she?" 

Sonia stared at him then jerked away, dropped her head back and howled. 

It wasn't a sound that should come from a human throat. Not a mimicking of a wolf's howl but the real thing, low and mournful. 

It was answered, first by the small wolf then by another Chris couldn't see, and both he and Ezra levered shells into their rifles, glancing around. 

Ezra's startled shout caught Chris off guard and he turned and aimed, only to hesitate for a fraction of a second, seeing nothing at first, but Ezra was looking down. 

Two  hands had emerged from the earth, brown and gnarled, fingers like claws wrapped around the gambler's ankles. With a yell of his own, Chris fired into the earth, but all that happened was the hands pressed upward, the earth moving and heaving and Ezra went down on his ass, almost losing his grip on the gun. 

Chris fired again, and again as the hands gained arms and then a head emerged to disrupt the earth, rising from a shallow grave, red-tinged eyes and a gaping fanged mouth swiveled to fix him with an inhuman stare, the face lined and wrinkled, grey hair tangled with leaves and dirt and he fired again. 

It moved so fast. He heard Ezra shout and another shot was fired even as Chris pulled his handgun. 

Claws closed over his wrist, dank, foetid breath washed over his face and he thought he smelled burning. He struggled, his gun firing into the dirt only to find himself held fast and both he and the creature from the grave fell backward, the impact of the ground knocked the breath from him. 

His scream was cut off by a choking burble of pain as he felt fangs sink deep into his throat, tearing through flesh and muscle, hot blood running down his throat, along his face, deeper and deeper until he thought the creature was trying to gnaw through his neck. He bucked and tried to throw it off, fingers clenching tightly on his gun to fire again and again. 

Just as suddenly the pain was gone, the fear fading as quickly, as if a veil had been cast across his mind. He could still feel the creature feeding on him, sucking at his throat, clawed fingers digging into the flesh of his arms, tearing the cloth, tearing at his flesh. 

It occurred to him he was dying. 

_Not yetnot yet_ It was whisper in his mind, but he could hear nothing else. _I only have need of your strength for time. Rest, gadje. Be at ease_

Soothing and comforting and despite his graying vision and the weight pressing him down, he found he no longer wanted to struggle, only to drift.  He tried to summon the will to fight, for Buck, who was dying too. For the others who wouldn't know what had happened. For Ezra who he could hear calling him. For Vin who was missing and maybe hurt 

But he couldn't fight for them when he could hardly fight for himself. 

_[5] bunica \- grandmother_  
   
   
  


**Chapter six:**

The road was rutted and broken, dried out and hardened like stone, pale and dusty yellow like the dried skin of a corpse, or aging bones exposed to the air and light after a centuries of moldering beneath the earth. 

"The earth's bones," Vin sang out softly staring at the rocks and the baked dirt. The earth's bones: back and ribs, legs and spine, cracked and crooked fingers all around him. The colors had all faded out but he didn't notice themcould barely remember them. The horse beneath him was weary and lathered but it seemed to know the way. It avoided the worst of the ruts, picking its way along the equally dry and dead grass at the edge of the road, the reins loose. 

Vin gave it no attention, lifting his face to the sun. How long since he had felt the sun on his face, seen the grey skies, kicked at the bones of the earth or felt  the need to dance among them? The laughter sang through him, both close in his newly acquired body and far away -- an echo in his mind. 

_Feed your hunger, childwe will raise an army, dance among the bones, dance on the corpses of our enemies_

So easy. So pure and simple this purpose. Had he known worry before? Or fear or sorrow? All gonewiped away, no more than phantoms. 

The horse whickered and slowed, and Vin looked along the road, seeing dust rising. A rider was coming steadily but not too fast and the hunger stirred. He did nothing, only used his knees to stop his mount, watching the rider approach. the man wore rough clothes: calico and denim. A hat of burlap flopped loose over his forehead to shield his eyes. He slowed and Vin thought he recognized the facesomeone he'd known. From the town. There was a town up ahead. A town of warm bodies and hot blood. Both food and the start of the army that was needed. 

The rider reined in, brown eyes wide and startled, and Vin had to struggle to think why the man's mouth would gape open so. 

"Tanner?" 

"Len" the name came to him without much effort. 

"What the hell happened to you? You all right?" 

Vin looked down, noticing the blood on his skin, the dark crusted stains on his pants where the cloth had torn. 

"I" he looked up, and found a smile. He wanted this man, this meal. That would make the rest make sense. "I think I had some trouble" he said and Len shook his head, dismounting and pulling a canteen from his saddle. 

"Somehere," he said, offering up the canteen, pulling the plug out and Vin took it, tilting his head back to let the water flow, cool and clean into his mouth. "You need help getting to town? How bad you hurt?" 

The words didn't matter much and Vin looked down, smiling at the man.  "Not hurtjust hungry," he said and offered the canteen back, almost slipping from the saddle as he leaned forward, smelling warm skin, fresh bloodsweat.  Len offered a hand to steady him. 

"We can get you back to town. I ain't seen Nathan but he's around" 

"Nathanhe's a friend," Vin said, names and faces falling from memory like leaves against the ground. Nathanand ChrisBuck.JosiahEzraJD 

"Yeah, Vin. They're all your friends. Whyn't we get you back to town and they'll see to youI'll go with you." 

"You were riding," 

"Nothing that can't wait," Len said and started to back up but Vin gripped the front of his shirt. 

"Can't wait" Vin said, almost falling and Len moved to catch him, only to grunt and gasp then let out a low moan as claws pierced his chest, up under his breastbone and he looked down to see blood soaking his shirt. 

"Vinaaaggghhh!" 

Vin took almost as much pleasure from the look of abject terror on Len's face as he did the smell and feel of fresh blood flowing over his arm.  He curled his hand, ripping upward, pulling Len up with him. Blood bubbled from the man's mouth, and Vin leaned in, licking at it, ignoring the struggles, the hands that clawed at his arms, the feet that kicked until the horse protested and he shoved backward. He didn't even try to break his fall as the dying body hit the dirt and he fell on top of it. Len gave out another gurgled cry but the light was already fading from his yes, and Vin levered himself upward to straddle the man. His other hand sliced downward, opening the man's belly, and he gripped and twisted, carving a path through flesh and muscle. Len jerked and let out dying gasp as Vin jerked his heart free. 

He didn't watch the man die, only lifted the soft, still pulsing organ to his lips and bit deeply. 

A groan escaped him and he fed quickly, hungrily, suddenly voracious as hunger screamed through him. It had been too long since he'd fed, years and years and centuries and every swallow made the distance and the time seem to shrink a little. The delicacy gone, Vin dug deeper into the open wounds, seeking out organs and slick soft bits of flesh, sucking the blood free of them. 

Only when the first pangs of his hunger were sated did he slowhead cocked and listening. Someone might comegood or bad, he wasn't ready to fight yet. He needed time and more food and strength. But there was a whole town to choose fromtender flesh. Sweet, gentle souls to feed his own. 

He rose to his feet and gathered the horses, finding the withered trunk of a tree to tie them to while he lifted the remnants of his meal up and over the saddle and tied it in place. He sniffed again, smelling fresh earth, waterand started walking, away from the road, toward the low brush some yards away, pulling the horses behind him. There was spring there to bathe in and softer earth to bury the offal, or at least cover enough to hide it. It wouldn't do to let it be found to soon, but the people might think it wild cats or wolves. 

He stopped then and sniffed again, more wary. The wolvesthe wolves would be here, they'd followbut they wouldn't follow him into town. 

He started running, the horses startled but willing enough to be led to water. And there he let them drink, dumping the body in the marshy scrub. 

He washed quickly, wiping as much of the blood off himself as he could, ducking down to rinse it from his hair, before mounting again, soaking wet, and urged his horse on, away from the road. 

He stopped again just beyond the town, dismounting and studying the buildings, the well traveled main road. Leaving the horses, he stated walking, coming in from the south, on the back side, where only a few people would see, if they looked at all. 

There were places to hide here, niches and alleys. He'd need clothes and he knew he had them. A wagon, his gunsand people who would be glad to see him. 

To welcome him home. 

He smiled and walked like a man to a feast. 

**Chapter seven:**

Josiah Sanchez stood beneath porch overhang of Chris Larabee's little shack, leaning against one of the rough hewn posts that held it up. He fingered the hollowed joint where the rail met the post. Chris' shack wasn't much too look at. The roof was sound, the walls close jointed and patched to keep out the worst of the winter wind. Cozy enough if the stove were going and Chris looked to have enough wood split to keep him warm well into the next century. It was pretty much pieced together, but there was skill here, where the post and pole fitted. Like sometimes Chris cared how well he did the work as much as getting it done, and sometimes he didn't. the same could be said of the furniture inside, all of it made by Larabee's hands. The bed and chairs looked to be solid. The table and shelves haphazardly put together, not so sturdy. 

Josiah had noticed that the blood that spilled on the floor hadn't seeped between the boards, though. Only soaked into them. 

He'd seen Chris' carvings, the little figures of animals and wagons, people and even a carefully carved open-petaled flower either set up on the uneven shelves or tumbled in an untidy pile into the kindling bin by the stove. So much care and then so careless. Chris could be a skilled woodcarver, a craftsman who could turn out tables and chairs, bowls and utensils that folks in town would pay hard-earned money to have in their own homes. Instead they paid him and all of them for a different kind of skill with their hands. Steady hands, steady nerves, who could handle a gun or a knife or use their fists to good advantage in a fight. To keep the peace, to fight when other people were afraid. 

Josiah wasn't entirely sure which use of their hands was the greatest waste. He'd been working on the old mission church for going on three years now. He'd replaced pews and shutters, pieced together a lectern for an altar. He'd sanded and patched holes, chinked other holes with mud and clay and sometimes scrap paper and wattle. Like Chris, some of his work was good and some of it was just the minimum that was needed. Depended on his mood, he supposed. Depended on need. 

Right now his hands couldn't put together even the bare minimum of what was needed. Nor could Nathan's, although, Lord love the man, he was still trying. Still working in the face of his own fear, a fear Josiah shared. 

Neither of them thought Buck had much longer and JD probably knew it too, but the boy kept doing what he could, which was mostly talking, sometimes asking and getting no answer from his friend but he kept at it because he didn't know what else to do. 

Nathan had covered the wounds again and again. He'd tried stitching one of them, but the flesh, for no reason he could see, was rotting. Slowly, but no amount of cutting or cleaning would stop it. It scared Nathan, and his hands were dry and shriveled he'd washed them so often, rinsing them with alcohol and carbolic until it was gone, then with soap and water hot as he could stand. He wouldn't let Josiah or JD touch the wounds at all. He'd tried to get them to stay out, but JD wouldn't be moved and Josiah wouldn't leave the two of them to face this contagion or disease or curse, if that's what it was, alone. 

The smell had driven him out finally. The last of Vin's sweet-grass was smoldering but it wasn't helping much. The whole cabin reeked of the sickly sweet scent of rot and contagion, like the leper houses Josiah had seen in his youth, charnel houses where the too poor and too sick were sent to die in their own filth, with only a few lost angels of mercy to tend them, usually sick themselves or so old, death was a welcome companion. 

Buck's wounds reminded him of those lepers, but he'd never seen the disease work so fast, spread so quickly and Nathan didn't think it was that, but he was afraid. Afraid because he didn't know, had never heard of such a thing. The wounds oozed a black oily substance along with blood and Nathan had given up trying to wash it away, because it did no good. All he really could do was keep Buck warm and feed him a little laudanum, just to make sure there was no pain.  But he'd whispered to Josiah that too much of the laudanum could kill him just as easily as the wounds. He didn't know which would do the job first. 

He might have gone ahead and overdosed Buck, were it not for the faint hope that Chris and Ezra and their sudden, desperate quest had offered. If the girl knew something, anything, Nathan would do his best to keep Buck alive until they could return. 

But they needed to do it soon. Already the sun was fading behind the horizon, the night birds calling, other creatures heading for their dens or their nests to wait out the night while predators roamed the darkness. 

And Vin was still out there somewhere, maybe with the men who had done this to Buck, maybe on his own, hurt -- Josiah didn't know what to think. He wanted to ride out to look for him, to do something that would feel less useless, but he wouldn't leave JD and Nathan alone. He'd said what words he could for Buck, asked for blessing and peace, but it felt like an empty and hollow request when what he really wanted was a reason, an explanation -- or barring that, a miracle. 

The clouds skittered back, a full moon shining as the sun finally left nothing but a blood red glow painting the sky. The moon looked huge and was red tinged, just barely. A harvest moon but it was too early. Not a hunter's moon either but it was menacing in a way the moon usually wasn't. 

The sudden eruption of howling had Josiah's hand on the long rifle he'd left on the porch, attention drawn to the open space surrounding the shack. They sounded close and the howling didn't trail off for more than a second or two before starting up again. 

Nathan emerged, eyes wide, his own pistol in his hand. JD was close behind but hovering in the doorway; caught between the unseen threat outside and the fear of Buck slipping away without JD at his side. 

The howling stopped as suddenly as it had begun, Josiah tense and wary, bringing his gun up when he heard hoofbeats. 

"Riders," he said, if only to break the silence and stepped off the porch to peer into the darkness. 

He saw them a few moments later, shadows on shadows, approaching from the direction Chris and Ezra had ridden off in; three horses returning, but as they neared, there were more than three riders. 

That bright moon glinted off Chris fair head and another, riding behind him, both bent low over Chris's big black. Behind him was Ezra, also bent low, Sonia's dark hair whipping about her pale face. 

The third rider looked to be no more than a child, but he rode the extra beast like he'd been born bareback. Josiah's hand relaxed on the gun as they slowed to approach, the animals lathered and worn, a little wide eyed. 

The woman behind Chris was old. Her face streaked with dirt, her black clothes funereal in their appearance despite the colorful stitching at the collar and cuffs. White hair stood out in long unruly waves, thin to the point of baldness in some places. Her hands held the reins of the horse and Josiah finally realized that Chris was lax and slumped over the horse's neck, the old woman's thin arms all that held him in place. 

Ezra was no better, Sonia struggling more with a bulk so much larger than her own and her soft, "help," galvanized Nathan into action even as Josiah moved to help the old woman with Chris. 

Chris was dead weight, limp and cold, already pale skin near white under the lucent glow of the moon. Josiah was strong but a full grown man was no easy burden, especially senseless as Chris was. He staggered back, going to one knee and then laying Chris down on the ground.  The old woman followed him, dismounting with more fluidity and grace than Josiah would have expected from a woman her age. She was not very big, no height to her, and little enough weight if her face were to judge the rest of her.  The voluminous black dress hung on her frame, the full skirts dragging the ground. She was as filthy as Sonia had been, smelling of dirt and ash. 

Fear tightened Josiah's throat as he fumbled for a pulse on Chris, and bent his head low to listen for a heartbeat. He knew when JD came up behind him, almost vibrating in worry. The horses stomped and fretted but the old woman didn't release the reins, only stared down for a long moment. 

Finally Josiah thought he saw Chris take a breath, saw a twitch in his face, in his limbs. "Nathan?" he called over, leaving his hand on Chris' forehead as he stared at the healer. 

"Ezra's got a nasty knot here," Nathan said, examining Ezra's skull with sure fingers. He opened his shirt to check his throat for a pulse as well. "What the hell happened?" he demanded, looking up at Sonia. 

"Sonia says you have an ill friend," the old woman said, voice light and whispery but carrying well enough. "The bite of the _daevas_ is upon him." 

"A bite? That ain't no bite," Nathan said, getting to his feet. 

"He's in here," JD said  backing toward the shack. "Can you help him? He'sNathan says he's dying." 

The old woman smiled and Josiah felt the hairs at the back of his neck prickle and rise. "Death and the _daevas_ they do not know each other. Show me" she said and let go of the reins. The horse pulled away, trotting toward the corral and the water trough. Sonia slid off her horse as well, but only led it and the other one toward the same trough. The boy stayed a horse, watching them both with solemn, dark eyes, fingers twisted in the animal's mane. 

Nathan looked torn, staring down at Ezra and then watching the old woman enter the house with JD. He left Ezra then and trotted over to where Chris lay. Checking him over, but his eyes narrowed and his hands became more frantic. "JosiahHe'sno pulse, not breathing," he said, almost accusing. 

"No, he breathed. He just did," Josiah said, shocked enough to search with Nathan and once more finding neither breath nor pulse. Nathan pulled Chris' shirt open, pressing his ear to the broad chest for long moments. Then lifting his head slowly, sorrow and anger fighting for supremacy on his face. 

"He's dead. Gone," Nathan said 

"No. No" Josiah surged to his feet, whirling around to look at Sonia, and striding toward her. "What happened? What the hell happened?" he demanded, grabbing both her arms and lifting her. 

Sonia only stared, not fighting and Josiah could see her throat, two small neat punctures, nearly closed and the trail of blood on her neck. 

A crash from the cabin and he dropped her, both he and Nathan moving when they heard JD cry out. Before they could reach the porch though, he came stumbling out, going to his knees. Gurgled words bubbled out of his mouth, with blood, and his shirt was painted with it. 

Nathan caught him, all but lifting him, Josiah rushing toward the door and seeing the old woman bent over Buck. 

"In the name of God! What are you doing?" he roared out and the woman lifted her head, face twisted and contorted, blood on her lips, tinting her fangs, the old woman replaced by a visage that made Josiah's blood run cold and he moved forward from momentum more than courage. 

She whirled on him, moving so fast and taloned hands caught his suspenders, dug into his shirt and into his skin as she lifted and pushed, sending him flying back through the door. 

He landed on Nathan and JD, sending them all sprawling, Nathan still trying to press his hand to the wounds at JD's throat. 

_We're in HellHell has come for us_ , was all Josiah could think as he fought for his feet, all but crawling to reach his gun. 

His fingers missed the shiny barrel as a heavy weight slammed into him. Fur and fang, the low growling and he thought he heard Nathan scream or yell or curse as the wolves came in, silent as ghosts. A big one snapped at Josiah's face and he dug his hands into the thick fur to keep the open jaws from his throat. He could hear the scrabbling and thumps of Nathan fighting, another yell and a single howl. 

Claws dug into his belly and another wolf joined the first. Josiah yelled in fear and outrage and pushed up, almost dislodging the first, only to feel fangs bite deep into his shoulder. The pain of it shot down his spine, and he fought in panic, blindly, fierce and desperate. 

Hands gripped his arms, holding them back, and before him, the big wolf melted, shifted, changed to a muscular young man, naked and glaring, one big hand encircling Josiah's neck. Wild-eyed and wild haired and he stuck Josiah's face with his fist, again and again, until Josiah's last vision was of the grim smile on the young man's face and a half seen glimpse of the old woman carrying Buck Wilmington's limp body into the yard as if he were no more than a child. 

_They will feast on our flesh, on our souls_ Josiah thought before the darkness claimed him. 

**Chapter eight**

That first gasp for air was painful -- like drowning and Chris closed his mouth, not wanting another, not wanting the burning in his throat and chest to be increased by the effort and movement that inhaling would cause. 

But his mouth was forced open and he found himself gagging on the thick flesh wedged between teeth and lips. Another hand pressed at his diaphragm, forcefully, shoving his heart against his ribs painfully. He gagged and bit reflexively, teeth tearing through the flesh, mouth filling with the blood that flowed freely. It was too sweet and too hot but he had to swallow or choke, and dying was a less appealing option when forced on him like this that it would have been at the end of the gun. A gun would be fast, this was slow torture, and no amount of railing or screaming in his mind had any affect on his ability to fight off the assault on his body. 

He swallowed again, amazed he could do so, the blood hitting his stomach with all the subtlety of molten metal and just as painful; sharp knives formed and expanded, through his gut, into his bowels, up through his lungs with such force and brittle clarity that he expected his chest to deflate like a punctured balloon. 

But it didn't and he didn't fade into the darkness, even though his heart hammered as if driven by a steam engine, only to falter and go still. He could feel it, that last pump, sending blood through his body, only to have it stop. 

Everything inside him could be felt, the blood rushing back toward his heart, like the retreat of an army before a superior force. His heart wasn't big enough to hold it all, and that molten burning feeling expanded through his veins, chasing the blood back, overtaking it, devouring it, overwhelming it like the earth gave way to a flood -- all was swept away in its path. 

His heart was too small and it exploded, overfilled and too fragile and he felt the blood well back up his throat, filling his mouth once more, drowning him yet again. The hard wedge of flesh and bone and muscle in his mouth blocking the escape of the blood. 

He thought he thrashed. He thought his arms and legs finally understood that he was fighting for his life, but whatever held him would not be dislodged, would not be tossed off. The scream in his throat came out only as a gurgle. The blood in his mouth found some release through his nose, out of his ears. He could feel it, tacky and damp and smelling  like a woman's cheap perfume, in his hair an on his skin. 

Unable to escape it flowed back again, spreading through him, cold and desolate, making his limbs heavy, filling all the low places until his very flesh felt soggy and overladen. He could sink into the earth like this, soak into the ground, dissolved like a block of sugar or an overripe fruit. 

This was dying. It was nothing like he'd thought it would be, nothing like he'd hoped and worse than anything he had ever feared. Dying like this, blind and unable to fight 

Not dying. This was being dead and feeling his body stiffen and freeze in rigor, then bloat and expand as corpses did, only losing that feeling as the flesh began to rot and fall off his bones. 

Terror gripped him, wondering why his mind wasn't following the same path. Shouldn't it stop too? Rot and fail on him as his body was. Had all the churchmen and the preachers been right and this was his soul clinging to the body it once inhabited, forced to remain and witness, for all his sins, for all his transgressions? This was hell and terrified as he might be, he couldn't deny that he probably deserved it. But God help him, if he'd known hell would be like this, he'd have been a pious and righteous man all the days of his life before now. 

And now it was too late. Now he would endure this torment forever, denied any comfortdenied any appeal. 

He coughed violently, surprised he could do so and rough, strong hands pulled him up, turned him, so he could cough and retch and vomit the foulness from his mouth and his lungs, the paroxysm threatening to empty his stomach, lining and all, onto the already blood-soaked grass he lay upon. 

His eyes watered and he wiped at them, surprised he could. His fingers came away stained and sticky, more so when he wiped at his nose and could still feel the blood trickling along his neck from his ears. 

"Get up." The voice was compelling and strangely accented. "Get up, _gadje_. On your feet." He was urged again and the owner of the voice gave him no time to actually order his thoughts enough to command his limbs, only pulled him up by force, with little effort and them shoved and guided him forward. 

He could smell horseflesh, the scent strong, sweat and fear and warmth and his face was pressed to the coarse hair, blood smearing across his face from a small wound opened in the animal's throat. "Drink. It is not perfect but it will do," the voice commanded. A hand at the back of Chris' head pressed his face to the rough hide, the warm blood trickling against his lips, tickling, and he licked at it reflexively, tasting it on his tongue. Warm, slightly bitter, but he suddenly craved it like strong drink and he applied lips and teeth to the wound and sucked. 

He could have gone on forever, lost in it, lost in the taste in the strength he felt returning to his limbs, in the acuity of his hearing and startled by the solid thump of his heart. Just once, more flicker than steady and the pause between the beats seemed too long, minutes. Maybe hours. 

Only to be jerked back again, so easily, with enough force to send him sprawling on the ground.  Dirt and grass abraded his skin, grated like sandpaper across his arms, leaving rough scratches that stung and burned. The pain was fierce for seconds then faded as he struggled to his hands and knees and shook his head to clear it. 

His vision focused and cleared although everything was filtered, not so much gray with the darkness of night upon then, but muted and shimmery, as if he were trying to see through a persistent drizzle. 

It was enough though to see around him, to see shapes and movement and other shapes that moved not at all. Sprawled on the ground or tossed there and his altered perception played against his fears. Hulking forms prowled around the still bodies, and other forms moved between them, back and forth between those still forms and what Chris realized were four horses. 

He tried to focus and felt bile rise in his throat to see Ezra, lying on his back, staring blindly up at the night sky. There was blood at his throat, torn flesh showing. Blood had stained his shirt and coat, soaked into it so that all Chris could see were the dull, browning stains. They'd ripped his throat out, or so it seemed and even as his gaze wavered and danced. One of the wolves came close, licking at the wound, at Ezra's face. Ezra blinked but didn't move, mouth open and the wet glistening blood at his throat welling and flowing along his skin.  The girl, Sonia, came up, pushing the wolf away and holding a cup of something to Ezra's lips, forcing him to drink. 

How she thought he could swallow with his throat ripped out Chris didn't know and looked away, but the view was no better. Nathan, Josiah, JD.all of them lay there staring upward, unblinkingbloodied and still. Had they killed them all and left him alive? Why? 

Not so many, and they were children, mostlybut the wolves were there too, only it seemed there were more people, more kids, shifting and moving among them, one to the other. He tried to call out to themtried to ask, but pain spasmed through his gut and he curled in on himself, trying to breath through it. Had they poisoned him? He couldn't even begin to understand what they wanted. 

Movement close to him jerked his attention around he could make out a different shape, one that seemed more fluid, the flash of white skin as she -- and it was a she he could tell without being sure how -- reached out to accept a cup from one of the smaller forms and prop up one of the bodies on the ground. Buck. She pressed the cup to his mouth, coaxing its contents past the unmoving lips. 

Blood. He could smell it. The sharp sour tang of it familiar, so familiar because he could taste it on his own lips, in the back of his throat. 

His stomach clenched and twisted and he groaned, doubling over as cramps hit him, twisting his bowels once more and threatening to pop his spine the convulsion was so strong. 

Even his muted sight failed him and he smelled dirt under his nose, he felt each bit of gravel and sand and dried grass press into his skin -- a thousand tiny bruised spots. He could feel the air on his skin, and suddenly the night insects, the rustle of fabric, the heavy panting of beasts, both the horses and the wolves, were all too loud. 

Once more he was pulled up and turned, onto his back and a cup was pressed to his lips. "Drink, _gadje_. The pain will pass." The voice was no less commanding but there was a gentler tone to it, and he opened his mouth, willing to do anything to rid himself of the pain. 

Sweet, salty, bitter and rich. Like cocoa or fine wine, all mixed together, heavy cream and eggs and sugar all whipped together. He drank greedily, licking the cup rim when it seemed to be all gone. 

And heard himself whimper at the loss of the nourishment and the succor. "I know, _copil_. I know. It's a cruel way I've brought you across. You must not fight the changes," she soothed and rubbed his throat, his face, across his belly, holding him up and cradling him to her spare breast. 

His vision returned, still muted, but he could see features, see the ancient face, the wisps of white hair, the eyes that were so wholly black and alien. "Therelet it come. It will feel cold, but then there will be no more pain." 

"Am I am I in hell?" he gasped out. 

The laughter was short, breathless. "Perhaps, _gadje_. If there is hell on earth, you are at the edge of it. But noeternal you may be, but the torments will pass," she said. 

"What have you done? What are you?" 

"My name is Magda and I have done what had to be done," she said and laid him back down on the ground, one withered hand on his chest. "Listen to me well, _gadje_. You have unleashed a great evil on the world. I know it was not your hand, but your kindand that evil cannot go unchecked." 

She loomed over him, all but straddling him and held him down. "I have no time to explain all, and this is but a crude forcing," she murmured. It sounded like an apology. 

Her face stretched and changed, less human, less ancient, the eyes too large, the bones of her face too fluid. Her lower jaw jutted out, not quite the length of a dog's, but the sharp teeth emerged, curling her upper lip back, her nose all but receding until only two slits of nostril showed. 

The scream that erupted from his throat would not be halted, and she held him, bore down on him. He could feel strength in his limbs but she was far stronger, nails like talons digging into his wrists, thighs like the steel of a bear trap, pressing his hips to the ground. She descended on him like a nightmare and he turned his head in fear so as not to see her. 

And screamed again as the fangs sank deep in his throat. 

He remembered this. She'd done this already, tapping the vein in his neck, drawing out blood and strength. 

It took him long moments to realize this was different, to recognize the rasps of her tongue across his torn flesh, the cold rapture of her spittle and her blood. 

His eyes were wide open: he could see the individual blades of grass and the ponderous progress of a three-legged cricket, already dying but without the mind to know it. 

A jolt like a rifle shot jerked his spine. Gone was the grass, this grass. In its place was green and rolling hills he didn't recognize. Brightly painted wagons rolled along the verge, and he was running, running and laughing to keep up. Not this time and not this place and he knew it, without knowing how.  Again, the jolt and it was full dark, a man approaching him, familiar and he wasn't afraid, but he was anxious, worried, lifting the heavy hair from his neck to expose his throat, to feel the man press close and flatten his full breasts, to kiss his lips gently before bending his head. Pain rose and fell in waves -- not so overwhelming and wholly expected. Weakness dragged him down and he was lifted, carried gently even as his blood was drained 

_waking to darkness, to the sound of music and laughter and he rose up, and others rose with him, off their crude pallets in the darkness of the wagon, six in all, and his eyes lingered on the cabinet in the corner, wherein lay the box, and inside the box, was evil and chaos and the desire to keep it ever contained was so strong he could feel himself weeping at the power of it. But the fear and the promise faded as he stepped into the night, into the light of the fire, to the sounds of laughter and singing. He was greeted warmly, drawn along by small hands and smiling faces. "Come, grandmother!! Come! Come! Tell us a story" and beside them romping and yipping were the wolves, tumbling the children, stealing food from the adults, leaping upward only to change in mid leap and join the dancing near the fires. Laughter following them and shawls and clothing tossed to cover their naked skin. It was a festival -- solstice -- and the clan had endured another year.there would be babies come winter_

_in the stillness of the night before dawn, he sat, on blanket covered pillows and waited, waited for the approach of another man, this one so much younger, face strained and lips blanched pale, but he knelt on the cushions. "MikalMikal son of my son's son" he whispered and got a smile as he bent to draw blood from his heir, feeling the power within him recede, the blood bitter-sweet and oily, filling a need but not satisfying it but when he was done, Mikal slept and the strain on his face had eased_

_the image blurred and sped up, nights and days passing with barely a glimpse of sunrises that could be endured but not taken for granted, of fights that left bodies in bits and satisfaction in the darkness. And ever the pulsing call of the box and the great power imprisoned within._

_Years and years, so many that centuries passedChildren and grandchildren were born and died, the bloodline intact, the descendents of her own womb raising their children and ever mindful of the old ones. Offering their blood for sustenance, offering their lives and joys in exchange for that which she had surrendered willingly. Beyond those faces the wolves prowled and howled and shifted and changedblurring the lines between blood and kin, between man and beast, between the living and the dead_

Blurred it so much there was no distinguishing them at all. They were all blood, all kin, family, clan, coven and as much protectors as anything Chris had ever been or pretended to be. None of it made senseand yet much of it did. 

The old woman was determined; Chris could feel her will override his own, surprised she made no attempt to rip his memories from him, because there was no doubt she could, there was no secret he could keep, no protest he could make. But his memories flowed anyway and he couldn't stop themhis fears mingled with hers and for a long anguished moment he was closer to this woman, this Magda, than he had ever been to anyone. The intimacies he'd shared with his wife paled, the trust he had in Buck's friendship was a mere shadow, the unnerving recognition he'd discovered on meeting Vin Tanner was a whisper across his senses as he saw himself mirrored in Magda and she in him -- every joy, every loss, every bit of darkness hidden away deep in his heart and soul and mind -- she knew them all and he knew her better than himself. 

It was worse than being violated; being beaten and raped could have left him feeling no more vulnerable or exposed -- as every petty thought and every crippling weakness was revealed. 

And then, just as suddenly and with a wrenching that was more painful than anything physical he'd ever suffered, it was done. She was gone, out of his mind, out of his soul, pulling away from his body and leaving him twitching and gasping and struggling to reclaim his own mind. 

It took a long time, too long before he realized that while she might be finished with him, she wasn't done. He tried to get up, but his limbs were numb, feeling not quite part of him and it was like fighting his way through quicksand to even twist a little and roll, to see here, the graying hair wild and filthy around her face, leaning over Buck, the glimpse of fang and distorted features wrenching a cry of him, a croaking protest. "Leave him alone, you bitch." He wanted to shout at her, scream, but his voice was no more than a breath, a whisper. It didn't even register with him for long moments that Buck's hand had risen to grip her arms. He couldn't see his friend's face, could only see the pale skin of his arm. 

He tried again, to move, to pull her from Buck. To do something, only to collapse back, chills and pain wracking his body through every muscle, down to his bones, so intense that he found himself biting into the earth, tasting dirt in his mouth and blood and bile. 

He didn't know how long the horrible spasms lasted. Fragments of voices, a shout and a cry. He thought he heard Josiah praying and JD begging. 

And then she was there again, wrenching him onto his back, the thin bony arm pressed to his mouth again and he bit reflexively, wanting to inflict pain, but only heard her chuckle. When she wrenched her arm away, he could feel her blood in his veins, taste it in his mouth. It was still foul, but the pain was easing, his strength returning. 

Every nerve screamed as he pulled himself to his belly, then up to his knees. Around him, his men were stirring. Not dead then, although they looked like they should be. 

He gathered his wits, gathered his strength, and lunged for Magda, both frustrated and unsurprised when she whirled and caught him, frail hands far stronger than he was, but she wasn't laughing as she shoved him back to the ground. 

"What the hell have you done? What do you want from us?" 

Her fingernails were like claws digging into his shoulders and she shook him, like a mother  wolf shaking a cub. "Listen, well, _gadje_ , For there is much I should tell you and I have no time. I have taken your lives without asking, without permission. It is a cursed thing among my people to do so, but the curse your people have unleashed is far worse. You will walk the night, you and the big one, there, who met with the _daevas_." 

"What did you do to Buck?" Chris demanded, trying to throw her off, only to have her rear back and strike him, snapping his head to the left with enough force to rattle his brains. The whole side of his face felt swollen, and he snarled back at her, twisting, only to suddenly try to scrabble backward. 

The creature above him was no woman, young or old. Her face was distorted, jaw elongated and nose stretched thin. Fangs, nearly as long as his small finger protruded from her jaw, top and bottom, her eyes a near luminescent gold and red. The hands that held him were more like claws, fingers and knuckles bent sand sharp, the long nails prepared to rake his face, but the creature only gripped his jaw, firmly, keeping him from screaming, although he wanted too. All that escaped was a whimper and he found himself frozen, unable to move or think. 

He didn't know how long it took before her face changed back, the claws retracting, until she was once more just an old, dirty woman. 

Her fingertips brushed his cheek, ran up his face to smooth back his hair. "You are as I am, _gadje_. Chris" she said, his name sounding strange from her throat.  "One of the _strigoi_. The demon cannot command the dead, he will have no control over you. It is a curse I have laid upon you, and on your friend. There is no helping it for he was dying already." Her gaze shifted to where Buck lay, where another child, a boy no older than six was holding a cup to his lips. "Your other friends, they are _muroni_ , shapeshifters. Like the children. They will remember how to change and when they need to. You will need to feed and soon, upon your friends, upon those of your kind. You need not take much. Never take too much, for their deaths will make you mad. Once in a moon, you must take as much blood, human blood, as can be found in a full grown man. Take from one or from many -- you will find your own way. It does not matter, but once in a full moon, you _must_ , or the madness will take you and you will kill without knowing. Much of what you need to know, we have given you already, through the kiss, through the blood we have fed you, the blood that made you." 

"Made us? You made us intointoGod, what have you done to us?" he demanded. 

"What I had to do. You are my children now, as if I had borne you from my womb. Listen to me, _copil_.  The other one, the friend you have lost, you must find him, and you must find him soon. The _daevas_ has taken him, overtaken his soul and stolen part of it. He will never give it back. Your friend will kill. He will feed upon the living as you must, but unless you control him, you will have to kill him. The children and I will find the _daeva_ s; we will hunt Akmanna. Your friend -- if you can control him -- he will help you follow us. You and your friend Buck, you must travel in darkness. The touch of the sun will kill you. Bullets will not. Wounds will heal. If someone takes your head, you will die. That and the sun are all that can free you of my curse. Beware the sun. Your friends will protect you as the shape-shifters of my clan protect me and those like me.  They can feed you until the next full moon. You can feed upon beasts as well, but once a month -- you must remember, _copil_ , once a month, you must feed from a human. You will know when and you will know why." 

"Nodamn you," Chris snarled out and pushed her backwards, but she only rose, and he struggled to get his hands beneath him to sit up. "Whatever you didwe don't want it," he spat out. He could only half-believe he'd seen what he'd seen, but the images were swimming in his mind. He wanted no part of it. Buck wouldn't. Better they were dead. "Take it back!" he demanded, torn and frightened by this thing, the changes he could feel in his own body as he gained strength.  Whatever they'd done to Vin, he'd rather be dead too. 

"It is done" Magda said. "It cannot be undone. We are too few, the children too young to capture this thing alone. We will need youUli," she said and a big grey wolf came forward. Chris's breath caught in his throat when the furry form shifted and changed, leaving behind a dark eyed youth, naked but resolute, looking too pale. Magda reached out to stroke his hair and he turned his face into her hand, responding quietly in a language Chris didn't understand. "Gather the others, supplies. Water most of all. We'll need little. Get the children. You will need to hunt for us. Scout. The other is still free. _Haiç_." 

And the youth shifted again and bounded off. 

"I'm going to kill you," Chris hissed out, searching for his guns, a knife, anything. 

"Fool!"  Magda snarled and once more was able to grab him and shove him down as if he were a child. "You did not ask for this thing, nor did I! Your life, the lives of your friends, the lives of the children, all the world -- they are worth nothing to Akmanna! The evil your kind has unleashed upon the world will destroy it! Men, women, children. He will lay towns to waste, he will put your people and mine into chains and make them slaves and he will feed on their flesh. Your devil, the devil of your Bible, of your GodAkmanna would make him cower." She pressed her hand against his chest hard enough to make his ribs creak and make him gasp out in pain. "You will follow, _gadje_. You will help undo what has been done, leash what has been unleashed." The red tinged eyes bore into his and he could feel her in his mind again, struggling against her. 

_the images flashed by quickly, fires and floods and the earth heaving and breaking. People screamed and ran, the skies darkened, and in the midst of it all, a pillar of darkness rose, swirling and stretching like the funnel of a twister. Blood stained the streets, stained his handswashed over and dripped from buildings and the very earth burned, was scorched until all that was left was ash and smoke_

Closing his eyes didn't help. Even when she released him, he could still see it, feel the ash in his mouthand he rolled over, retching into the grass once more, until it finally, mercifully, faded. 

But it didn't leave him, not completely and he didn't know if what he'd seen was what would be or what had been. 

"Remember, _copil_. And follow," Magda said. "Find your friend. Bleed him, bind him with silver. He will not die, but you must control him." Chris struggled with understanding any of it even as he rejected the idea of treating Vin so cruelly, like he wasn't human. But he could see it, remember it from memories that werent his own, of other's in Magda's clan, bound with silver, fed upon -- and the box. The silver sided box that had been shattered. It was important, as was the silver-lined wagon. 

"You sorry bitch," Chris spat at her, struggling to lift his head from the ground. Another violent shudder wracked his body as he tried to turn on his side, to wipe his mouth free of the foul taste of her blood. She backed away a little, out of his reach, the wolves circling the others where they lay in various states of consciousness and unconsciousness. "We'll follow. And when I find you, I'm going to kill you and all your brats," he said, not flinching when the big grey wolf, Uli, growled at him. 

"Then it will be so. You are of the Hanash nowyou and your friends. The others are of the _muroni_ the shape-shifters of my clan. You will not die, and your friends will live long lives, but you can be killed as I have told you and soon, you will need to feed on the blood of the living, or on the blood of your friend, if you find him. Find the _daevas_ and you can have your lives back. If we fail, find one of my clan, and they will take the burden from you and give you release, if that is what you seek. We will hunt as well, the children and Ibegin the bloodline again with Sonia and Rael.  Should you ever need shelter, come to the tribes. And some daysome day, if it is still my blood you want, I will give it to you freely. The debt I owe will be paid. Or you can find a way to free yourself of thisyou know how, what it will take. But the _daevas_ will remain free to spread his evil and his darkness among the sons of Adam and the daughters of Eve." 

"Aren't you going to ask me to forgive you?" Chris snarled at her, struggling to get to his feet. He managed only his hands and knees, watching as she shed her clothes. 

Magda smiled at him. "Is it something you could grant me?" she asked, turning to one of the horses, gentling it and then biting the glossy neck. She sucked for only a moment before stepping away, then shuddered as the change came over her, her body stretching and contorting, twisting in such a way that made Chris sick to watch and he looked away.  A few moments later he heard a huff of breath and a low whinny and he looked up to see a big grey mare standing there, pawing at the ground before wheeling away. 

  
**Chapter nine:**

Through slitted eyes, Chris watched as Sonia and the young boy, Rael, ran forward, hauling themselves up bareback on the beast. Sonia wrapped her small hands tightly into the thick mane as Rael gripped her around the waist. Magda snorted again, then gave a soft bugle and the pack backed off or turned and ran, following behind as Magda headed out of the yard toward the west. 

Chris could only stare. He'd seen the boy change from wolf to human. He'd seen Magda change too;   from an old woman to -- he didnt know what -- but now a horse? He closed his eyes, ready to lay all of it at the feet of having had too much to drink except he couldn't remember drinking anything strong enough or for near long enough to cause this kind of nightmare or hallucination. Maybe peyote, like the Indians used, or one of Nathan's drugs. Morphine could cause powerful hallucinations, and God knew he felt bad enough to want some. There was nothing that didn't hurt from his toes to his teeth and gums, feeling loose and sore from where the woman had hit him. 

But when he opened his eyes again, nothing had changed. The night sky was still clear, the shimmer of the moon wrapped halos around everything from the edges of clouds to the tree tops. Around him he could hear the snorting and whuffing of disturbed horses, and the equally disturbed sounds of his friends gathering their wits about them. 

If any one of them had wits left at this point. Chris wouldn't  -- couldn't -- trust his own sanity. But the big grey was gone -- or Magda -- whatever she was, and the wolves with her. Tin cups he recognized from his own cabin lay on the ground, still showing sticky-wet and drying stains on the rims and handles. He blinked again, wondering that he could see so clearly when it was dark save the moon. 

Carefully, he rolled over and no one struck him or drove him to the ground again. His limbs felt rubbery, but it was passing as was the ache in his gut. All that lingered was the bitter gun-metal taste in his mouth, and the awareness that he was filthy and bloodied to the point that he really should feel a whole lot worse than he did. He dropped back to his knees staring around him and then stopped to stare at where Buck was pulling himself up to sitting. 

Moving. Alive. Nightmare or miracle? 

"Oh, Jesuswhat has she done to us?" Buck murmured, voice hoarse and bracketed by coughing. Chris's insides felt like so many twisted knots, his skin felt as though things crawled beneath it and he ached and burned, swallowing against what he recognized as the first signs of hunger. He ignored it all though, getting to his feet briefly only to drop again in front of Buck. Around them, the other four were moving, groaning, or in JD's case, vomiting. But Buck was up, on his knees, _talking_ , when only a short time before, his breath had been rattling in his chest and his pulse so faint, Nathan had had a difficult time finding it at all. 

Anger gave way to wonder as Chris lifted his hand, letting it slide to the back of Buck's neck, pushing the open shirt back and then tugging at the bandagesignoring Buck's startled protest. The blood on the bandages was dry, and Chris tugged harder, exposing enough flesh to see the result. 

The gaping, bloody hole, with its black and rotting edges was gone. Beneath his hand was smooth flesh, cold to the touch, but firm and unblemished. Feeling something like a sob build in his throat, he pulled at the bandage around Buck's middle. That wound was gone as well, even though blood still stained the pale skin. 

What Magda had done, still made him seethe, the foul taste in his mouth leaving bitter bile in his throat, but Buck was whole, no longer dying, looking as startled and surprised and worried as Chris felt. It didn't stop him from pulling his friend close, though, locking arms around him and after a moment, Buck's arms rose to hold Chris tight as well, strength offered and returned until Chris broke away, breathing sharply and looked around. 

Hard to believe anything at all had happened really. There was blood on each of them, but the open wounds at their throats had vanished, scratches on arms and torsos only evidenced by torn clothing and the blood still staining them. Josiah was sitting up, studying his arms, examining his hands as if expecting them to erupt in fur and claw any second. Nathan looked in shock, eyes huge and staring, one hand at his throat as if he could feel the fangs still digging in there. 

JD had stopped retching but was on his hands and knees, head low, one arm pressed to his belly and Buck shifted away, going to him, while Chris lurched to his feet and stumbled over to where Ezra still lay supine. He gripped Josiah's shoulder as he passed. "See to Nathan," he managed to get out and Josiah jerked and looked up at him, before nodding. 

Ezra's eyes were open and staring up at the night sky, but he blinked once when Chris's shadow blocked his vision. "Ezra?" 

"Unless you have come to wake me from this nightmare, Mr. Larabee. I'd appreciate it if you'd let me be." His voice was utterly normal, which was more than could be said for how he looked. There was blood in his hair, on his face, staining the white linen of his shirt, the heavily brocaded vest torn and ripped and showing more staining. For someone who had been so badly mauled, Ezra looked pretty good. 

That made Chris start laughing, chuckling at first, then feeling the laughter well up from deep inside, along with the gnawing sense of nausea and hunger. His cackling brought Ezra's attention up, as well as the others; Buck left JD to come and settle behind Chris, wrapping him in his arms as the laughter took on more and more hysterical overtones. 

They were all staring at him, not sure what to do, how to react but Chris couldn't stop laughing, any more than he could stop himself when that laughter changed to something that hurt a whole lot more. He wasn't a man who was prone to crying, he hadn't hardly cried at all when he'd lost his wife and his son, but it bubbled up inside him now, tearing into his chest, making his throat hurt, making him feel sick and weak. Made him want to die, those feelings that rose up in him even though he knew half of them weren't his own. 

No way to explain that either, that some of this was Magda's grief and her anger at the lives lost, at the sacrifices made. He wasn't entirely sure he understood all of it or any of it,  what she'd done and why. He'd thought himself damned when he lost his family. It occurred to him that he hadn't really ever understood what being damned really meant. 

The sobs weren't really doing the job and he felt something up rise up, sharp and shrill and frightening. He almost gave into it. Almost. 

The flare of pain across his face shocked him enough to let him breath. And Buck was there, watching him, eyes dark and worried. He was scared. They all were. 

So was Chris, but it wouldn't be the first or the last time and they had more things to worry about -- they didn't need him losing it like this. Not now, not ever. Buck's fingers dug into his shoulders, painfully hard and Chris latched onto that. 

Just like he always had. 

* * *

None of them had ever seen Chris like this, but Buck had. Had drawn Chris back from the edge of madness and despair more often than any of them knew. The others crept in closer and Ezra finally sat up, gathering around the man who had lead them so long, however grudgingly that leadership had been offered. Shocked to be watching the armor crack and shatter and unable to look away. 

"Chris," Buck said, catching his face and slapping him gently. No time now for any of them to fall apart, and Buck wasn't sure he could hold it together if Chris lost it entirely. Not that he didn't understand it or share the urge. His own fear, his memories and others that he weren't sure were his at all, bubbled up, ready to overwhelm him. The fact that he was still alive helped some, because he hadn't expected to see any of these men again, ever. 

Chris's gaze was unfocused and Buck slapped him again, harder, and got a reaction, Chris pushing back a little only to shake his head and suck in a harsh breath. The he reached out and gripped  Buck's shoulder, hard, using him to lever himself up to his feet. "Tell me I dreamed all that," he said harshly, looking around at the torn up ground. 

"Unless we've shared similar nightmares, I'd say no," Josiah said after a moment, and managed to get to his feet as well, looking at his arms. "I remember a wolf -- a man." 

"Both," JD said quietly. "Both. They're both. I didn't dream it," he said, fingering his torn shirt and the skin beneath. There were red marks there, like scars, only they were fading. "And thatthe old woman. She kept saying how the demon had escaped, like Sonia saidbut, if she wasn't a devil what was she?" 

_Strigoi._ Chris said. "Vampirewerewolves." 

"Loup garou," Ezra supplied, tone still sharp. "Wive's tales. Legends." 

"There are stranger things in heaven and on earth--" Josiah began 

"Spare us, Mr. Sanchez," Ezra said and got up carefully. 

"We gotta go after Vin," Buck said, seeing everyone moving but they were missing one and he swallowed heavily. Not against the bile in his throat but there was plenty of that. 

"What the hell happened?" Chris said, suddenly in his face and Buck knew he wasn't talking about the events of the last few minutes or hours. Hours. The moon had crested. They were well past midnight. "You were supposed to track--" 

"We did!" Buck snapped out and drew his knees up, tucking his arms around them and willing himself not to rock in sheer panic. "There was no way we coulda' knownOh God," he said more softly, wiping a trembling hand over his face. 

"What happened out there, Buck?" Nathan asked dropping beside him, hands hovering over his shoulder, eyes straying to his chest where the wounds had vanished. "I didn't expect you to make it to morning." 

Chris was waiting too, they all were, and Buck wasn't sure he had the words to describe what had happened, to make them understand. But he had to -- not just for Vin but for what had just happened. He might not be as willing to believe what he'd seen with Magda and her whelps, to believe in his own resurrection had he not seen that thing inside Mikal's broken and rotting corpse. "We followed the tracks. They weren't trying to hide 'em.  Then we found that feller \- the dead one," Buck started, slowly. One step at a time. That was the only way he could do this -- not get too far ahead of himself. Just one step at a time. 

"We saw him," Nathan said, encouraging him. Chris stood a few feet away, still looking angry and a little lost, Buck thought, confused and helpless but he wasn't moving, wasn't demanding they ride off in pursuit of whatever. Not yet. 

"It was that Gypsy boy that did it. He said so. Been following them, the two that made it out of the camp alive. That's what he said. That he gutted the one for what he'd done to his family. The other one got away. We shoulda gone back for you fellers then," Buck said, but couldn't convince himself it would have made any difference. Maybe though, maybe for Vin. "We found him a bit further on. Where you found meand Vin." 

"Vin wasn't there," Chris said sharply. "Just you. We found his shirtweren't no boy either." 

Buck had already figured that out, that Vin had been gone. That he'd been wrong. Vin wasn't dead just as Mikal hadn't been dead even with his skull half gone. 

"No, no" Buck said. "I don't know how to that boy was gonna kill me. He turned on us so fast. Knocked Vin clear out of his saddle. Had mehe was so strong. Not a big kid, kinda slight, but, I couldn't move and then hehe changed," Buck said so softly the others had to draw closer to hear him. "He wasn't humannot a man, like Magda ain't totally a woman, or them wolves. But this was different. I thought I was dead. Thought he was gonna do me like he had that other feller. Gut me and open me up -- pull out my heart. Vin shot him. Nearly killed me too but I'd have rather he did. Blew that boy's, Mikal's, head near off." 

"There wasn't a body with or without a head," Ezra said. 

"I know that! Damn it, I'm trying to tell--," Buck snapped his jaw shut. "I wish I were drunk." 

And Chris turned away, Buck shocked and afraid Chris's patience had worn thin, but he only went to his saddle on the fence and pulled out the bags, snagging out a bottle of rye and took a long drink himself before tossing the corked bottle at Buck. 

"Get drunk if you need to, but keep talking," Chris said and Buck took a long drink then passed the bottle on. Not enough to get drunk although he was sure Chris had more stashed away. The hard liquor made his throat burn and sat on his stomach like lead, but it cleared his head. 

"He, Mikal, he should have been dead. But he weren't and he weren't human. We wasit took only a couple of --" Buck ground his teeth together. "He got up. His head was falling off and he got up and drove them claws through Vin's gutback to front. I couldn't get him free.  Then he bit Vin, in the throat, like that Magda, like the wolves  I shot at him, blew holes in him but he wouldn't die!" Buck said. The bottle hovered near his face and he took it again. " Vin was bleeding so bad, and he was scared and... Something came out of him, out of that boy. I can't describe it. Blackoily, not anything I've seen. Like a big snake or a leech or something. It had thesetentacles or spikes. It was all over Vin, trying to get _in_ himin his mouth, in his  ears" Buck found himself panting, surprised to see Nathan's hand cover his own. "I tried to pull it off him, out of himbut it just kept sprouting more of those thingslike arms and then it --" he touched his chest. "They got hard. Went right through me like I'd been speared, pushed me back onto the tree and stillit wouldn't let Vin alone. It got inside himmouth, ears, noseanywhere it could find a way in. Anywhere," Buck breathed out, unable to describe more than that, to put in words how thoroughly Vin's body had been violated by that thing. "Then it was gone, sucked inside himI wanted to ride backstart a fire. Vin was dead. I thought he was...I couldn'tI wasand that thing, Mikalhe just crumbled all to dust, like them burned corpses at the camp." 

"We saw you," Nathan said. "You was bleeding bad Buck. It's wonder you were alive at all when we found you." 

"Was Vin dead or wasn't he?" JD asked. "We didn't see him." 

"I don't know" Buck said honestly. "That thing was in him. And Mikal should have been dead after all the pieces I shot off him, but he was still movingSomething took him over. And now it's got Vin. That's what Magda was trying to tell us. That demon thingthe one they kept as guardian, that's what Mikal was and now it's what Vin is." 

"And she thinks we can control him?" Ezra said. "A thing that can change its shape and slip out of one person into another?" 

Buck shook his head and saw Chris staring at the ground, kicking at the dirt a little. "I don't think itworks like that. That thing in Mikal didn't show up until he was near blown to bits. Like there wasn't enough body to hold it in any more." 

"If it can get in, it can get out." 

"But them gypsy folk, they controlled him. Mikalthat's what she said.  She said" Nathan started then got a confused look on his face. 

"She didn't say itmuchshowed it though," Chris said uneasily, glancing at each of them. "I thought she was talking to meI couldsee, feel" 

"She changed us," Josiah said quietly. "That was blood they were making us drink, hers at first. I remember that muchsomething in her blood. In the wolves. ShapeshiftersVampires." 

"That demon feller," Chris said. "He can't command beasts, or the dead," he echoed and met Buck's eyes. Buck met that gaze steadily. Were they that changed? Without really thinking on it, he pressed his hand to his chest again, waiting to hear or feel the thump of his own heart. He felt nothing. 

"Nathan" Buck said. "You tell me I'm crazy. But I can't feel my heart no more." 

Nathan stared at him, but Buck moved his hand and leaned back and let Nathan lean in and listen. After long moments the healer sucked in a breath and jerked back. "Don't move," he said and got up and went back into the cabin, returning with his prized stethoscope. 

He didn't make it as far as Buck, because Chris stepped in front of him, face hard and cold, pulling away the tatters of his shirt, exposing the pale, blood-marked skin of his chest. Nathan hesitated only a moment, as long as it took to draw a deep breath, and pressed the cold lead cup to the pale skin. 

He moved it and waited; patience was one of Nathan's strengths. Not so with Chris but he stood for it, not moving and Buck had to wonder if Chris realized he wasn't breathing.  That he himself didn't seem to need to either and that when he did it was for speaking or in reflex. Waiting for Nathan to finish with Chris he tested it.  He felt no need to draw air into his lungs except that it seemed unnatural not to want to. He held off the urges, panic edging in his mind but not from lack of air, but from the lack of desire to breath. Not like being underwater and holding his breath, not holding his breath against the stench of rot and decay. 

He didn't need Nathan's stethoscope to be sure any longer. But if this was being dead, shouldn't he feel different? He felt much the same. There was still a gnawing feeling in his gut, he could see and hear, maybe better than he had before this night. His muscles worked and his body felt solid. Dead but not a ghost? 

He pushed himself up to his feet when Nathan approached, face set, but he wouldn't meet Buck's eyes, even as his smooth hand pushed the remnants of the bandage away to listen. 

"Are we reallydead" JD finally whispered. "Like she said?" 

"I don't know," Nathan whispered and opened his own shirt, pressing the metal to his chest, eyes widening. "I can hear my own heart," he said, something like hope tingeing his tone. 

JD pressed his hands to his chest, feeling, eyes closing and listening, only to flash open again. "I  can'tit feels like it is, but I can't hear," he said, voice rising sharply, eyes wide, and Buck went to him, laying a hand on his arm. 

"Shhhh. Shhh" Nathan said, coming up to JD. "Just breathe, JDyou're getting all excited." He pressed the little cup to JD's chest, steadying him with a hand to his shoulder. "Your heart's beating like a rabbit's," he said, the corner of his mouth turning up just a little. "Try and calm down, JDBuck?" 

Buck rubbed his hand over his chest, and Nathan did too, a little startled at the smooth skin, the lack of wounds. Those terrible holes gone like they'd never been. His hand shook a little though when he could hear no heart beat. Waiting. Then he jerked. "There was--heard it," he said and pressed harder, listening, waving the others to be silent, but it didn't come again, not like it should have. No man should be walking and talking and looking both scared and concerned when his heart wasn't beating. "I was sure I heard it," he said, almost apologizing "But it's not  thereIt ain't possible for you to be up and no heart working to keep you there." 

"But it is, obviously," Ezra said climbing to his feet, brushing off his jacket. Weren't no laundress or seamstress in the world that could save his fancy red jacket now. 

"You want me to check you?" Nathan asked. 

"No, thank you Mr. Jackson. I'm relatively certain that my heart is beating just fine." He sounded pissed off about it. 

"Mine as well, Nate," Josiah said, still sitting cross-legged on the ground, but he pushed himself up, glancing at Chris who still stood in sullen or maybe shocked, silence, watching them all from under the fringe of dirty bangs. 

Nathan fingered his stethoscope and looked between Chris and Buck. "You's different than us. Whatever she didit's different," he said, accepting that fact for now. His large palm hovered over Buck's chest again. "She didI couldn't have healed those," he said. "I tried Buck, but they wouldn't close and they was justit was like you was a corpse even before you were dead, rotting away." 

Buck stared at him, not sure what he was hearing or if he understood it, or wanted to. He closed his hand over Nathan's pushing it down.  "Well, I don't rightly care what I am, cause I don't feel dead. At least this ain't anything like what I'd imagined, not like when I've been close before. I feel like me," he started then hesitated, chewing on his lower lip and the corner of his mustache. "I still hurt some. Like I'm two days out of a bad fight and my belly's got rocks in it, but I can breathe," he said and inhaled, the scents of the night: dampness and grass and dust and the smoke from the cabin, all of it sharper.  "I don't know what she did or what you're thinking, Nate. But I ain't dead." 

Nathan took that in and then nodded. "All right thenbut you ain't exactly alive either." 

" _Muroni_ ," Josiah said, looking at his hands again, then at Buck, sorrow and fear warring in his eyes as he lifted a hand to press to the cool, dry skin of Buck's neck, callused thumb stroking across the flesh, seeking a pulse, seeking warmth. He found neither, as if Buck's healed wounds had not been enough to prove Magda's claims. " _Strigoi,_ " Josiah said, testing the word on his tongue and what it meant. Josiah swallowed and shook his head. He couldn't explain his need to touch and check for himself. There were memories and thoughts and legends all vying for his attention; half recalled stories to scare children and some adults. 

Buck's eyes still reflected the shock, but he reached for Chris's throat then, soothing him, even as he held him. "Shhhush now, Chris," he said, trying and failing to find a pulse either, even when he slid a hand under the torn remnants of Chris' shirt, hoping to feel the thud of his heart. 

"We should feel differentaren't we different?" Nathan asked, bewildered, rubbing his arms, scraping off the drying flakes of blood. "Like themmore animals than men?" 

"I assure you, Mr. Jackson," Ezra said, a sliver of ice in his voice. "I still feel very much a man." He pushed up and got to his feet, unsteady for a moment but he found his balance and having done that, he stared at the cabin, at Chris's little shack, and headed for it, returning a few moments later, strapping on his guns. 

"Ezra, where are you going?" Buck called out as the rest of them found their feet, Buck and Josiah pulling Chris up between them. 

"To find that traitorous bitch and her whelps and add a wolfskin coat to my wardrobe," Ezra growled, heading for where the horses were picketed. 

"Ezra" Chris said, almost too low for Standish to hear. Buck still had an arm around him, but Chris lifted his head, face streaked with tears and blood and paler than any man, living or dead, should be. "Wefind Vinwe'll need him." 

"Will we?" Ezra said "If there is truth to any of thisthen following the scent of prey should be the _least_ of our difficulties." 

"Are we"JD swallowed and struggled to his feet, breathing fast and shallow. "She saidto see it, the shape 

He struggled with it, ignoring Buck's protest. 

Then he screamed, loud and piercing and inhumanly enough to startle the horses and have them dancing, trying to pull free. Ezra's mount reared and screamed as well, then bucked, almost succeeding in throwing Ezra off. 

JD's body twisted, distorted, jaw extending and hands curling, clenching. The tendons in his throat stood out, the flash of darkness under his skin. The sound of tearing cloth added to squealing of the horses and JD's scream became a snarl and a growl until he dropped, shuddering and _changed_.  Where JD had stood, still caught in the remnants of his clothing was a black furred timber wolf, thrashing on the ground and tearing at the pants and boots still encasing its legs. 

It tore free, jaws snapping, amber eyes the only thing even vaguely recognizable as JD at all. Free of the restricting cloth, it almost fell to its belly and whimpered. 

The horses quieted, but still danced nervously, and the men stared, shocked and riveted into the truth of their circumstances by the change more than the lack of pulse or wounds. 

"JD?" Buck only whispered it, but the wolf lifted its black head and struggled to its feet, uncertain but apparently not injured. Like a whipped dog, it crept forward on its belly, legs shaking and tail low, to reach out and lick, then nuzzle Buck's hand. 

"Holy Mary, Mother of God," Josiah breathed out. "JDJD son,can you change _back_?" he asked. 

The wolf looked up, darting quick looks at them all before backing up and lowering its head.  The change back was no less startling, but less terrifying as a more familiar form emerged, JD naked and still covered in dried blood, shaking as if he'd run a hundred miles, even from his position on his hands and knees.  He made a choking sound and lifted his head, expression both terrified and wondering. 

"Youidiot!" Buck exploded, pulling entirely away from Chris to lunge at the younger man, gripping his upper arms. "What if you couldn't? What if" the anger left as quickly as it had come and Buck pulled  JD to him. 

"We had to know, Buck" JD said, voice cracking, but there was little emotion but fear in his face as he buried it against Buck's chest. "We really arewhat she saidnot...not human anymore." 

"Human enough," Josiah said and stood up, stripping off his shirt. "You onlywhat JD?" 

"It's there...to see the wolf, feel it," JD said. "It just comesand changing back is the same." 

"Doesdoes it hurt?" Nathan asked frightened gaze shifting between JD and Josiah, where he big man was pulling off his boots. 

"Nnono. Not _hurt_. Its hard to describe" 

Josiah stripped off his pants as well and crouched, hands pressed to the dirt, fingers clutching at the dried grasses there. "Heavenly fatherforgive me this" he muttered and crossed himself before closing his eyes. 

It took slightly longer before a low grumble erupted from Josiah's throat, not a scream but more like a roar, body stretching and shifting. 

Bigger than JD and silver gray, with grey eyes, the big wolf panted and then snarled, testing legs and jaws, growling and biting at the air for long moments like he was having a fit, before collapsing as JD had done. He rested only a moment though before getting to his feet and approaching Buck and JD carefully, sniffing, grey eyes slitted. JD dared touch him, feeling the thick ruff at the animal's neck before Josiah turned away and approached Nathan even more cautiously. 

Nathan drew back but didn't try to run, only remained still while the big wolf sniffed at him, then nudged him with his nose, twice, pushing the damp nostrils against Nathan's hand until Nathan touched. 

"I'm not seeing this...I ain't this..." Nathan said, but his fingers dug into the wolf's fur and then he leaned forward, almost collapsing. The wolf remained still, even as Nathan clutched at him, burying a tear streaked face against the silver fur. 

From his horse, Ezra remained still, watching it all, and Chris got up, walked over to him and laid a hand on Dancer's bridle. "We'll find her, Ezra. But we gotta find Vin first before he doesif this is true about us" 

"Then what she said about Mr. Tanner is most likely also true," Ezra said, fingers tightening on the reins as if he would take off anyway. 

"He'll go to town. They won't know what he is. What we are," Chris said, almost cursing himself for not allowing JD and Nathan to tell anyone when they'd gone to town for the wagon, trying to tell anyone, but knowing they wouldn't have been believed. They might now, if they saw any of them change -- they might shoot them as well, or anything, although it was a small hoped-for comfort to know that as with Magda and her little pack, bullets wouldn't do much harm. Still, traps could be set and they could die. He hadn't forgotten that. 

Or at least JD, Nathan, Ezra and Josiah might die. There was no reason to think his and Buck's fate weren't equally as true and just as impossible to believe, even if he didn't feel that nagging sense of hunger. They could get by on animals for a bit, if Magda was to be believed, but they'd have to find humans as wellor find Vin and finish it all before the next full moon. 

"They'll have to stop somewhere for supplies eventually," Chris said, but wondered if it were true. The wolves would hunt for Sonia and Rael, although eventually Magda would have to hunt a human of her own to feed from. 

"We've only got a few hours until dawn," Ezra said, and relaxed his grip. "Which means you and Buck can't be caught in the sun. We shouldthe others and Iwe can check the town." 

"But you can't control him," Buck said, hollowly. "And the daylight won't stop him" 

"Silver will"Josiah said, sounding weary and shaken, but he was human again. He reached for his pants, pulling something out of the pocket. The silver crucifix shown dully in the fading moonlight. "It's a startand there has to be more. If Tiny will let me at the forge. When dawn comes, Chris and Buck will have to find someplace to hide. The church will do as well as anyplace, since God apparently has nothing to do with any of this." 

"And what'll we tell folks? We can't stay there, with Vin like he is and us" 

"We'll tell them what we need tothat raiders took the Tinker's camp and killed them all and we're after them," Chris said. "We'll need to get supplies as welland Buck and I will" he swallowed and rubbed his stomach. "Buck and I will do what we need to do." 

"Then we're going after Magda?" 

"Or that Akamanna fella," Buck said. "We're gonna need that box." 

"I want the bitch--" 

"And she'll be tracking him as well," Ezra said. "Anyone care to lay a bet on who we find first?" 

Chris gave him a tight smile. "Vin firstbecause if he makes a ruckus in town, it won't take long for us to be more hunted than hunting. JD, there's probably clothes of mine you can wear. Get your guns and let's take it one thing at a time. Buck, you up to a ride?" 

"Except for thisrock in my belly, I'm fit enough," Buck said and stood up, drawing JD with him. 

"Miracles and curses in one ungodly package," Josiah said, looping the crucifix around his neck and pulling his clothes on. 

**Chapter ten:**

Mary Catherine Coulter had never meant to be a whore. She hadn't been raised to be one and her momma and daddy were probably spinning in their graves on seeing what had become of their daughter. But they were dead and maybe someday she'd get to hear what they really thought and maybe they'd forgive her. 

But they hadn't raised their daughter, nor none of their children, to lay down and die when things got hard neither. Her daddy had fought until the end, fighting for what he believed in on some field in Virginia somewhere and her momma hadn't stopped living or doing what needed to be done just cause her husband was dead. She hadn't stopped when Jessie and Nathaniel had died, up on that mountain in Tennessee. A lot of men had survived that battle, but Mary Catherine's brothers hadn't been among them. 

But that had left just Mary Catherine and her momma on the farm and for a few years, even after the war was over, with the help of the other women around and a few of the men who made it back, they'd worked the farm. They'd grown their food and managed to hold onto a chicken or two and a couple of old milk cows. 

No, her momma had kept right on doing after her man was gone and after her sons were gone. Worked for years until Mary Catherine was near a woman grown -- sixteen  and filled out and her momma had started wondering if she might meet a man, any man. Some of the boys were old enough and some of the fellers who came back from the war, hurt or not, they'd make good husbands still. 

Mary Catherine had asked her momma if she had thought about remarrying, but her momma had said no. She had some things to do yet and then she'd be seeing Mary Catherine's daddy again and it would all be all right. 

She kept saying it, and kept reminding Mary Catherine that folks just had to get on with what needed being done and not worry much about what had gone before. 

She'd said it right up until the morning she walked out into the vegetable garden to pick some squash for bread and had fallen over dead, right in between the squash and the strawberries. 

The folks in Francisville had been kind and they'd helped her with the arrangements, getting her momma buried and taking up a collection so that she could give the preacher five whole dollars for the words he read out of the good book. 

Some of the folks offered to let her live with them and at Sarah Ann Halsey had nudged her oldest boy forward, to make an offer for her hand. Jake wasn't no more'n fifteen and a fine looking boy. He'd be a good husband for somebody but not for Mary Catherine. Without her Momma or her Pa, without her brothers, there wasn't anything on the farm she wanted or felt like she needed. She had bigger plans. She wanted to get out of Francisville, get out of the delta and put the war and the dying and changes she knew were coming behind her. If there was going to be changes, she wanted to be ahead of them. Mr. Harbin, who ran the mercantile, had a son who'd headed west. He'd made it all the way to San Francisco, to see the big ocean and he'd sent back letters and picture cards that Mr. Harbin had shared like he did the newspapers from back east. If Darby Harbin could make his way west (and he'd never been anything but lazy) Mary Catherine figured she could too. She wasn't lazy and she wasn't scared and there was nothing to keep her here at all. 

She sold the cow and the chickens and given away what she could and offered the two families closest to her the farm. It hadn't been much, but she'd gotten a wagon and a pair of old mules and enough money to lay in some supplies and she'd headed out, headed west, joining up with a wagon train to make the journey. 

That had been hard, the trip, up to Independence and then south, but worth it seeing all that land and space stretched out before her.  Some folks thought she was crazy, a girl alone heading west. Maybe she had been a little. 

A dozen times she almost turned around and headed back. She hadn't known the trip would be so grueling. It wasn't the work around the camp each night that made it difficult. She wasn't no town girl who didn't know how to clean the hooves on her mules, or how to ration her water. She didn't need a bath every day as some of them delicate looking women seemed to want after hours in the dust. 

She lost a mule after nearly a month out and left what furniture she'd brought along behind on the trail to lighten the load for the other one. But they'd both been old and the trip was too hard for them and she lost the other one a week later. 

One of the fellers traveling west offered her a ride and they'd combined her supplies and his and even so she'd walked more than ridden. Then that feller, James was his name, had offered to let her ride more often if she'd be a little more friendly. 

She supposed she started then, down the path to being a whore. She hadn't thought of it like that at the time, cause he for sure didn't give her any money to share his blankets. She'd done for him like wives did for their husbands, more or less, and he wasn't a bad man, didn't treat her rough or mean, and seemed to like her cooking more than his own.  But it had raised a ruckus among some of the other women, who'd stopped talking to her, until one woman was either put out enough or brave enough to suggest to Mary Catherine that maybe she ought to think about finding a preacher and marrying James. 

She hadn't even asked James about itshe'd just looked that woman in the eye and said, "If I'd wanted a husband I'd have stayed in Mississippi." 

She made it as far as Sante Fe, which seemed like a nice place to stay awhile. She'd taken her things back from James and had seen him off. 

Some days, she wondered what her life would be like if she'd gone with him like he asked. Different maybe. Maybe not. 

Sante Fe was the biggest town she'd ever seen outside of Independence. Folks moving in and out:  different kinds of folks. She'd turned her hand to mending clothes and washing them, but the work had been harder than the trail out here. Then she'd seen the sign in the window of one of the saloons: Girls Wanted. 

She'd seen those girls, in their fancy dresses, flirting with the men: cowboys and ranch hands and soldiers alike. She knew she'd clean up all right even if she didn't have one of them fancy, frilly dresses. 

She got one, borrowed from one of the other girls until she could buy her own or make one. The work was still hard but not as hard as working on the farm. Serving drinks and food, keeping the men from being too lonely, talking to some, just letting them see a friendly face after long weeks or months on the trails. She wasn't an idiot. She knew that some of the girls offered a bit more, got paid for it, part of which they had to give back to the saloon owner. She'd fallen into it easy as falling into a bed. 

Most of the fellers were all right, they didn't want nothing more that the touch of a woman's hand and the use of her body. And the saloon owner wasn't too bad -- not as bad as some men some of the girls had worked for. Yes, she had to pay for her room out of the money she made, but he didn't take it all, and he didn't like the kind of fellers who messed up the girls. He'd toss 'em right out on the street. 

Sante Fe was growing though, and it wasn't more than a couple of years before he sold his interest in the Saloon and the new owner wasn't nearly so accommodating, weren't so nice. Mary Catherine's momma hadn't raised a fool for a daughter, and Mary Catherine saw bad times coming. She gathered up what little money she'd saved, put on one of the old dresses she'd had from before and found herself a ride heading out of Sante Fe. The West was a big place and she hadn't seen near enough of it. 

She'd ended up in Four Corners more or less by accident. At least, it weren't no place she would ever pick to go to. She'd still had her sights set on the wonder that was San Francisco but it wasn't going anywhere. The stagecoach ran through to San Francisco two or three times a year but it cost a lot of money, nearly fifty dollars, and that might take her a year or two to make. She really wanted to see the Pacific Ocean, which folks said was deeper and wider than the Mississippi and Mary Catherine wasn't sure how that could be true but she'd like to see it and decide for herself. 

Not that Four corners was an awful place, but it was quiet and kind of slow and reminded her of Francisville a little bit. She'd managed to find a little work here and there while she kept an eye on the Saloon, not really willing to jump back into that life unless she knew how it would all work out and that meant getting to know some of the girls who worked there. So, she did a little sewing for some of the ladies and worked a couple of afternoons in the Potter's general store and they let her have a room. Her clothes were looking a little worn and Miz Potter let her have some fabric on credit to make herself a new dress. And Mary Catherine decided the folks here were good folk although she knew if she went back to working in the saloon, their opinion of her might change a bit. 

She finally left working for the Potters to work in the hotel -- making sure she paid Miz Potter for the fabric. The job in the kitchen paid a little better and she got a room there too. Most of the business coming through was off the stagecoach line, with the local folks and taking dinner there when they had something to celebrate. The Saloon stayed a lot busier with ranchhands coming in on their off nights, but she found out that come time for the cattle drives, they'd be busier still and the trail hands tended to be real generous, having cash but no place to spend it on the long miles between towns. 

Most of the girls she talked to seem to think the cowboys weren't too bad unless they got liquored up, and Dennis down at the bar watered the whiskey down so that it took a while and most of them wanted a girl long before they got drunk. 

She had a few hours in the afternoon free every day, when the evening meals were simmering and the breads rising and she spent a lot of time just watching folks from the walkway, making sure she was neat. 

There weren't so many people that she couldn't know a little about them all. Like she knew that Miz Travis' father in law was some important man, a judge, who came through about once a month and brought Mary's quiet withdrawn little boy with him. Weren't no secret that her husband had been murdered and Mary Catherine thought she was real brave to stay in a town that had seen her man killed. Or maybe foolish. She'd been there when Nathan Jackson had come into town with his mule and his bags of herbs and his knowing about broke bones and fevers. She wasn't sure she'd ever trust herself to a darkie doctor and her daddy would be appalled if he she ever  did, but Nathan was the only healer the town had and after a few weeks it turned out he was right good at it. Mary Catherine had never seen a slave in her life, not even living in Mississippi. Folks around the parts she grew up in did their own field work and those fine plantations were as distant and mysterious to her as the ocean was. 

Come spring, the Potters had hired a feller to help with the store, a man who could do some of the heavier lifting that Mary Catherine had never been able to do and that Mr. Potter was getting too old to do. He reminded her of the Wagon Train guides did Vin tanner, kind of wild looking and like he didn't need nobody. But he was polite, tipping his hat or bobbing his head at all the ladies. He didn't spend much time in the saloon save to come in and have drink now and again and Mary Catherine had seem him look at the girls but he never approached them, not that she'd seen and she was pretty sure none of the girls would mind if he did. For awhile there, Four Corners seemed right crowded. There was a fancy dressed gambler in the hotel named Mr. Standish who looked like he'd just stepped off one of them fine Riverboats and the scary old preacher man who said he wasn't who wandered in and out of town for supplies who seemed to be a friend of Nathan's. 

When the cattle drives started she'd quit her job at the hotel without much worry about it. Blossom had said they'd make room for her and while the rest of the town didn't think much of the working girls, for the most part they were polite about it. Or at least kept their whispering behind the backs of the girls instead of spitting on them. 

Miz Potter was disappointed when she saw her next and Mr. Potter wouldn't even look at her. Miz Travis looked more disapproving than anything but she didn't say anything either and she was polite as long as Mary Catherine was. Mary Catherine figured she just didn't like having to share her name with a whore but she was a woman alone too so maybe Mary Catherine was being a bit hard. 

The girls she'd made friends with were right. Blossom and Patty and Annabelle were glad to have her during the drive season and Mary Catherine managed to put some more money away for that trip to San Francisco but not enough and things quieted down quite a bit. She could wait though and didn't have much choice unless she moved on to another small town which wouldn't put her any closer to her goal. 

So, she'd bided her time and picked up a few extra dollars when she traded out some favors to the quietly shy livery man who letter her plant some vegetables behind the stables. Fertilizer a plenty and the hotel didn't mind giving her a few pennies for what she could produce, just like they bought from the farmers in the area. 

It wasn't a bad life, all in all. Not until the trouble started with Stuart James and his nephew and those idiotic trailhands coming after Nathan Jackson. She still might not like Miz Travis much but she decided then that the woman really was brave, standing up like that against them men.  Mary Catherine didn't hold any ill-will toward Nathan but she would never have put herself in front of those men. 

She was surprised as anyone when Vin Tanner picked up a rifle and was joined by the dark clad gunslinger who'd come into town.  Even more so when they ran off the lynching party. It was more excitement than she'd ever witnessed. 

Things got a bit livelier after that and Mary Catherine half wondered if it wasn't because the town now had it's regulators to keep the peace. Before the judge had hired them on there'd been little trouble, now it seemed to come hunting them. Still, they seemed to be nice men for the most part and she, like the other girls, thought Buck Wilmington was just the sweetest man alive. Fickle as a hummingbird, but he was good to all the girls. Gossip was, his momma had been a working girl too. And young JD was cute as he could be but anyone could see that he was as sweet on the young Wells girl as she was on him. 

The rest of the men settled more or less. Mr. Standish wasn't above visiting late at night, "discretely" he always said. Josiah seemed appreciative but he'd never made the climb up the stairs with any of them. Nor had Nathan, which wasn't surprising. Rumor that when Chris Larabee he wanted a woman, he'd head south toward the border. Mary Catherine didn't know why he found Mexican whores more appealing than his own kind, but it wasn't her place to say. 

She was surprised as anything when Vin Tanner came up the back stairs one night. All seven of them had been out guiding that passing wagon train to their lands and there had been trouble on the way, which surprised no one. That Vin Tanner would come looking for a woman to pass the night with was surprising, but Mary Catherine had been available. 

He wasn't near so shy in bed as he was on the street, but he was careful and gentle in a needy kind of way. Wasn't until a few days later that she heard the rumor that he'd fallen in with one of the women on the wagon train, that it had caused some problems. And who would have expected less, her being married and all. Mary Catherine didn't care much about that at all, not when there were married men that sometimes came up the back stairs too. 

Vin hadn't wanted no more than release that night nor any of the nights after when he'd come to her maybe once a month. She found it a little sweet that he always asked for her and always had a half dollar or so extra for her. On the street he was as polite as always and in bed he didn't talk much. Sometimes though, they'd share a glass of whiskey on the back stairs. He never talked about much of anything, but he knew his stars, like Mary Catherine's daddy had. And he'd tell her about the Indians -- the People -- though hardly ever talking about himself and never talking about the other men he rode with.  He didn't like her anymore or less than he did any of the other girls and she knew it. 

And Mary Catherine told him a little about Mississippi and the farm and sometimes about her momma. Vin always listened and smiled. He didnt hardly remember his own ma, but he agreed with Mary Catherine's momma that only thing folks could do most days is just keep on doing what needed to be done. 

So she wasn't surprised to hear him on the back stairs when the moon was full and the town just starting to settle down for the night. He'd come to her when he was troubled, she'd thought. Had done so after those nasty fake marshals had come to take him away. She didn't know if he was guilty of killing anybody or not and didn't care much. He'd come again after that poor Moseley girl had been murdered by her father. He never said anything -- she always found out later that something had happened that would make a sort of sense that Vin would come to her and want to be held a little and remember he was alive. 

Surprised to see him, no, but surprised at the state of him yes, because he was shaking so bad, she came down the first few steps to meet him. She couldnt even say what it was, really, 'cause his shirt was clean, if faded and old, but his hair was thick and looked damp in places and his face so pale she thought he might pass out on him. When she reached out to touch him, his skin was so hot she knew he had a fever. 

"Vin, what're you doing out? You sick?" she asked and had a flicker of fear about fevers she heard could lay whole towns to waste but he seemed steady on his feet, even if he was shaking. 

"No, not sick--" 

"You're burning up!" she countered back but he took a step up and she found her self leading him up. She could get him in bed at least, get some water on that hot skin and then run and find Nathan. 

"I jes'-- " and he stumbled then and she found herself holding him up, helping him up all the way to the landing and inside. She could feel the heat of him right through his clothes. 

"Oh, Lord," she said, feeling more scared because he didn't even seem to know some sickness had taken him. She could hear one of the other girls laughing as she came up the front stairs and a feller's deeper chuckle.  She pulled open her own door and closed it, got Vin onto the bed. 

She had water in the pitcher and a clean towel and she wet the latter with the first and wiped at Vin's skin. He was hot but not sweating and she didn't know if that was good or bad. He smelled too and for a minute she gagged and swallowed. Weren't the scent of an unwashed body -- she'd smelled plenty of those. And wasn't like the sick smells she'd smelled before of sweat from fevers or wounds gone bad. This was sweet and cloying, like perfume gone rotten, nice underneath but foul and decaying, like rose rot or when the magnolias her momma would sometimes bring into the house and set in bowls of water turned and started decaying on the underside. 

"That feels good, Mary Catherine," Vin said, his voice hardly above a whisper as she pressed the cool water to his face and his throat. 

"Vin, you're sick. I should get Nathan." 

He caught her hand, thumb stroking along her wrist, soft and gentle like he always was. "He ain't here. Out with the boys" he said and looked up at her. "Don't need him anyway." 

He had the prettiest blue eyes. She'd always thought so and right now, even with the low light from her lamp, they were bluer than a spring sky, bright and warm. But she couldn't ignore how hot he was and she dipped her cloth into the water again, opening his shirt a little to spread the cloth over his chest. If Nathan wasn't herewell she knew enough about high fevers to know she needed to get the heat down. She'd done it before when the girls sometimes got sick. Too many men, men who were sick without showing it. She didn't even like saying the names of the disease folks could carry and share in a bed. They had such pretty names to be such nasty things. 

Vin's chest was smooth and tanned brown, firm and hot even through her wet cloth. 

"That feels real good, Mary Catherine," Vin said and he smiled at her and she smiled back. His hand rested over hers again, stroking her skin, like it was the finest thing he'd ever felt. 

His eyes didn't look feverish at all, just bright and searching over her face, lingering on her eyes and lips and looking so hungry, Mary Catherine felt a flush spread to her cheeks. She felt warmth in her belly under that gaze and her breasts felt heavy, her nipples pushing at her chemise like they didn't ever without somebody touching them. Lord! What did that say about her that she could feel so, her being a whore and sex being nothing much more than some way to earn her some money to get to San Francisco and Vin being sick and all. 

But he'd stopped shaking and was pushing up, sitting to pull his shirt off. He had smears of something on his skin, caught under his arms, in the crease of his elbow and Mary Catherine  wiped at them with her cloth, frowning at the dull brown stains. It was too red to be mud, and she knew the sight of dried blood on cloth. Saw it every month on her own cloths when her time came upon her. She didn't see any wounds though, no cuts or scrapes and maybe it wasn't Vin's blood. He did some hunting and trapping and fellers could be careless when it came to washing up after skinning a critter. There was more of it near his waist, when he had his shirt off, crusted at the top of the buckskins he wore, tuning the light leather darker. 

"You sure you ain't hurt?" she asked him, seeing that stain trace along the thigh of his pants, like it had soaked through. 

"I'm not hurting much," he said which didn't answer her question, but hot or not, he seemed to be okay, and she didn't think it strange at all when he pulled the cloth from her hand and set it aside. "You could make it better," he added and she found herself nodding, that heaviness in her limbs and her belly leaving her a little breathless and dizzy it came on her so fast. She could feel wetness between her thighs and that cloying sweet smell went to her head like too much whiskey or the taste of that sweet, sweet wine Mr. Standish sometimes had with him that made her sleepy and silly all at once. 

And Lord, his eyes were shining, and his touch on her waist seared through her like a sunbeam, so that she didn't even notice when he lifted her chemise and brought those hot, hot hands up to her breast, covering that aching nipple. He pulled the cloth down and his mouth was as hot as his hands and Mary Catherine had never felt the like. He hadn't done nothing but touch her at the tit and she felt the shudder in between her thighs, tightening her legs against the pulsing ache that swelled up. 

"V..Vin" she wanted to protest because this wasn't nothing she'd ever felt, nor come on her so fast. His mouth lifted to hers and she found herself clutching at him. He tasted bitter and sour but it made no difference, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth and his hand tightening on her breast right up to the point of pain. 

And that ache between her legs was all she could feel, driving her to want something to ease it -- his touch, his prick, anything and she pulled at his trousers. She'd had fellers that acted this way: so hot and eager and hungry for it, she'd been lucky she hadn't gotten hurt the way they seemed to need it so bad. She'd never felt that herself, not even under the touch of her own hand, to _want_ it so badly. And Lord help her, if this is what the menfolk felt, it's a wonder they gave any care or concern to her or any woman at all. 

Vin didn't deny her, and if she thought it odd the leather just tore under his hands, she didn't stop to think about it, nor about the tearing of her own chemise -- a chemise she'd paid good money for. Because he was naked then, and hot and hard, the length of him swollen and wet and dripping, that scent of rotting flowers and old blood rising up strongly enough to make her pause for just a second, but not enough, because his mouth was on her tit again, sucking on it, teeth scraping it, hard like she didn't usually like. 

It was all lost to her though, because that bite sent a sharp yearning ache through her from her privates up her spine, sent her heart pounding hard and fast. She was clawing at his skin, trying to get him closer, to mover herself. Like that prick of his with its oily sheen and that dark drop of what might be blood hanging on the tip was the only thing that could ease the ache inside her. 

He picked her up like she weighed nothing, and laid her down again, rolling on top of her. His eyes burned now with fever, but she wasn't sure her own weren't equally as glazed. She saw blood on her own breast but felt no pain. Felt his fingers dig into her sides and wetness drip there but didn't feel even a hint of fear. Vin's eyes were all she wanted, his body all she desired and thoughts of fevers and blood and San Francisco and the memories of her ma and her brothers and everything she'd ever known fled like so much dust down the street. 

She cried out when he pushed inside her, taking no time for anything even vaguely like kindness, but she didn't care. She was wet and slick and she'd have pulled him in harder and deeper if she could have. But he had her hands now, held to her sides, his body thrusting into hers so hard she heard the lamp rattle on the table by the bed, the bed hit the wall. She pushed her hips up to meet his, that feeling deep in the woman's part of her building until she couldn't keep back the gasps and cries of want to fall over that high wall she was clawing her way toward. 

Vin's tongue filled her mouth, muffling her, plunging deep as his prick shoved its way insider her. She tasted blood in her mouth and wondered if she'd bitten him or himself. There was more sticky wetness between her legs, but she still hadn't crested that peak and she was desperate for it now. Thrashing beneath him, getting a hand free to grab his hair, to lock her legs around him. Her skin felt hot, so hot the sweat on her couldn't keep up with it. 

She tried to pull him back when his mouth left hers, to nuzzle at her throat, his other hand letting her go to cover her mouth, muffle her cries that threatened to turn to screams of pleasure and want that threatened to make her heart burst. 

A body couldn't take this much pleasure, couldn't stand for it to hold so long. She welcomed the feel of his teeth at her throat, biting through skin and muscle, the blood welling on her skin. Welcomed it for the distraction it gave her. 

He pulled her up then, rocking back on his own knees and taking her with him. She could only hold on, feeling his prick push that much deeper inside her. Cling to his shoulders and hair while he gnawed at her throat. The heat was easing off now; she felt cool air on her skin and she sobbed instead of screaming, feeling herself right on the brink of something she couldn't even define. 

Then his hand was there, right there, where their bodies were joined, his finger sliding into the folds of her, along his dick, up to that little hard nub inside her that now pounded and pulsed harder than her heart ever had. She felt his nail there or something; hard and sharp, and his mouth covered hers again as that sharp thing pierced her, right into her. 

She screamed then, into his mouth finding that peak she'd been so desperate for and then crashing down the other side. She could taste blood in his mouth, knowing it was her own, felt that sharpness rip up through her belly, tearing flesh and muscle. She could smell the bitter sharp scents of her own innards, flowing out. 

And still she didn't feel any pain, even though some small part of her mind knew what was happening. Vin was ripping her open, clawing through her belly and upward, the blood scent sharp and metallic around them and she was flying up on a pleasure that shouldn't have felt so much like heaven but did. 

She didn't have breath in her to scream any longer, nor strength to hold on, but Vin caught her, his eyes still shining, his smile so tender and warm and loving that she could only smile back, no matter that it was her blood staining his lips and mouth. He eased her back down and she couldn't control even a finger tip, but she could still feel him inside her, his prick the only warmth she felt, like a fire in her womb. He lunged inside her one more time and that warmth spread outward, the smell of magnolia blossoms and roses and blood and piss filled her nostrils, and even the crack of her ribs, the tearing of her flesh couldn't stop her from smiling at him when his fingers reached up under her ribs and tugged at her heart. 

_I'm coming home, momma,_ she thought and waited to see her. Waited. But only darkness greeted her and the echoing screams she knew weren't her own. And right then, right _there_ all the joy and bliss and rapture fled out of her, was just gone, and everything she chould have felt, everything she could still feel from torn muscles to terror overtook her and ripped through her sharper than the claws that had ripped her wide open. 

She wanted to scream but there was no air left in her lungs, and blood only bubbled up in her mouth and she saw Vin looking at her, still smiling at her through blood stained teeth, but his eyes were black and not blue, not human. 

She let go then, let that darkness sweep over her and drifted with nothing but the screaming in her soul.  
   
   
  


**_...to be continued_**

[](http://assignations.org/maygra/shadow/index.html)  
   
  

[](http://eosdev.com)


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